Wheel of Fortune
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: He might have kept things from her, or given empty words instead of answers, but the look in his eyes didn't lie - he was fond of her. Which was good, Mhyra thought, because she was kind of fond of him, too. [f!Smuggler/Darmas Pollaran]. Romance/ adventure/ humour/ drama/ something. SPOILERS for the entire Smuggler class storyline, so don't read until you've finished chapter 3.]
1. Chapter 1

_Let's call it an experiment... Written just for fun._

 _Spoilers for the Smuggler storyline; don't read until you've finished Chapter 3. Really, really don't. Like, spoilers start from the very beginning of the fic.  
_

* * *

I

Risha, ever the diplomat, had expressed her opinion outright, but in the end had not interfered with Mhyra's choice. She had just grimaced, disappointment plain on her face, but had not even bothered with a warning shot. She had not liked Mhyra's decision, but she had accepted it.

Well, at least it had seemed so. Until they got back to _Wheel of Fortune_.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Mhyra just shrugged. "I went to a ship going to fly into a black hole to recover some lost treasure, then I agreed to work for the Republic, I fought a couple of Sith warriors and an infamous Imperial admiral, and I made peace with Rogun the Butcher. Oh, and I've got a Mandalorian mercenary, a soldier boy, a failed Jedi padawan and a crime lord's daughter in my crew. To think of it, I might be out my mind. Well, sometimes it really seems that Bowdaar is the only one sane person here."

Risha put her hands on her hips. "That slimy son of a Hutt used you, tricked you into working for the Empire..."

"Risha, you don't care whom I work for, as long as there are credits involved."

"The Empire is bad for modest entrepreneurs like us, you've said that yourself," Risha shot back immediately. "Blast it, Mhyra, he tried to kill you."

"So did Rogun. And Ivory. And—"

"Good grief, you really liked him." Risha raised her eyebrows. "Please, tell me I'm imagining things, because you can't be that stupid..."

Mhyra sighed. The revelations hadn't been nice, certainly. But in the underworld business, you quickly learned to forget, because credits did not make themselves, and brooding over the past didn't pay off. You remembered, you learned, you didn't dwell on it. She knew she shouldn't have trusted Darmas, and than being comfortable made her less careful, but that wasn't going to happen ever again.

And she certainly didn't want to make it a big deal. No blasted way. Over her dead body. Mhyra caught herself and smiled self-mockingly. Yeah, had she not been such a good shot, that might have been the case.

Risha scowled. "It's not funny."

"Trust me, Risha, I'll never make a mistake like that again."

"You let the scum go."

"That—" Mhyra's first instinct was to find an excuse, but she changed her mind immediately. She made a mistake, she had to face the consequences. No big deal. "That might've been a bit impulsive on my part."

"A bit?" Risha snorted.

"It'll do him no good. I've heard that the Empire is not very forgiving when it comes to failures, and this failure was nothing short of spectacular."

"Poetic justice, eh?" Risha did not seem quite convinced, but left it at that. "Well, at least he gave us some information in exchange for his life. Who knows, some of it might even be useful."

Mhyra decided she could be honest. They've been through a lot, and Risha proved a true friend, one of the best she'd had in years.

"I wanted to shoot him, you know." She walked over to the drinks locker and took out a bottle of fine wine – a souvenir from Alderaan – and two glasses. "But I think the information he gave was worth his life, considering... considering. Well, the Republic certainly seems to think so." She smiled mockingly.

The whole plan had been masterfully crafted, she had to admit that, but ultimately it had failed, and she doubted Darmas Pollaran – or whatever his real name was– would get a warm welcome back in the Empire. At best, he might be pardoned. Mhyra shook her head, pouring the wine for Risha and then for herself.

"You offered to help him escape on our ship. Well, your ship," Risha corrected herself. "On your ship."

Mhyra smiled dreamily. "I could give him over to Rogun... Or the guys back on Coruscant... Or... Ahh, so many wonderful possibilities."

Risha shrugged, probably realising that any further attempts at talking some sense into her friend would be pointless. "Well, at least we still have Port Nowhere." She swirled her glass, then took a sip of the wine. "I wonder what you'll find in that locker, you know. If it doesn't blow in your face, that is."

A couple of hours and couple of bottles later, when Risha got up – a bit unsteadily – to return to her cabin, she stopped for a moment and looked back at Mhyra. "I'm sorry, you know. That things turned out that way."

Mhyra smiled back at her friend. "Appreciated. And now go to sleep, because that's as mushy as I'm ever going to get over it."

When Risha left, Mhyra stared down at the glass in her hand, wanting to hurl it at the wall. And maybe a bottle or two. Instead, she just sighed. The wine stains and the broken glass would require too much explaining.

When she returned to her own cabin, for a moment she contemplated breaking the intricate holo sculpture she had kept at her desk. Then, with emotions giving way to reason, she decided to sell it, and not even at the lowest possible price, as her wounded pride demanded. She might as well make some profit from it all, at least.

One way or another, she had to get rid of it. Right now, she did not want anything that would remind her of Darmas Pollaran. And not only because she was furious at him.

On Corellia, she had asked him to give her a reason to justify sparing his life... But, in truth, although she would never admit it aloud, he had already given her that reason just before she had asked.

He had shot at her, true. But he had not killed her, had not even hurt her. She might have the quickest hands in the galaxy, but she had faced Imperial agents before – and their aim was flawless. And Darmas had intentionally missed, she was sure of that. Or maybe it had not been quite intentional, maybe it had been involuntary, but he had missed – and she had understood the importance of that fact even back then. He had missed, and he had given her much more time that she had needed to draw her blasters.

So, despite his orders, for some reason he had not wanted to kill her. And she could not simply forget that.

It all felt... strange. She was not accustomed to such feelings, and she didn't like them, not one bit. At first, she had beeen furious, and she had been fine with that. But it had quickly given way to something else.

She wasn't sad, not really. She hadn't been in love with him... but there had been a connection. Blast it, they had been good for each other, they had worked together perfectly. And she kind of missed that. The easiness of that relationship, the laughter.

She could have kept adventuring, and returning to Port Nowhere now and then, and he could have kept gathering and selling information and playing cards. It could have worked brilliantly – a comfortable, easy arrangement, with lots of fun involved.

Mhyra did not need a husband, or a man who would do anything for her, or who would change for her, like Corso wanted. Not even someone who would share her vision of the world in its entirety. Just someone who'd understand her. And Darmas had. Blast it, they could have been partners. They had worked so well together...

And most of it had never even been true. She felt... not disillusioned, but disappointed. And bitter, for some reason. Maybe because he had told her that not everything had been a lie. She would've been fine with a lie, really – she would've been angry, sure, but ultimately she would have know there was nothing to regret, because it hadn't been real, so in the end, she would've lost nothing. But she knew it had not been just a lie, and the loss, however small, was real.

And Mhyra was not certain what to do with that.

. . .

On the way to Port Nowhere, she had thought of the blasted locker many times. She expected to find many things in there: a worthless trinket, a mocking message, or even nothing at all. Then she gave up guessing, knowing where it had gotten her before. Darmas Pollaran had been many things, but predictable had never been one of them.

Now she stared at one of the databases, displayed on the computer screen. Contacts, locations, trade routes, star charts, hideouts, allies, enemies, strengths and weaknesses. A complete database on most members of the Migrant Merchants Guild.

Mhyra smiled. Stared. Smiled wider.

"You have a plan. Something wicked and twisted, and I have a feeling I'm going to love it," Risha remarked, leaning more comfortably into the chair she was sitting in.

"We now have Port Nowhere, and means of contacting most of the guys from the Guild... And I wonder how they will react when they learn they've been used to profit the Empire."

Risha huffed. "Not that they care who they work for..."

It didn't seem possible, but Mhyra's smile widened further. "But they care if they know about it. They weren't given a choice. They were deceived. And I don't think they're going to like it."

"So even if the Empire will pardon him, the slimy son of a Hutt is going to have the Republic and the Guild on his tail... Oh, now that's just too precious." Risha laughed quietly. "Poetic justice."

"Of course, if there was a reward for finding him, that might get the job done even more quickly."

Risha laughed. "You are devious, you know that?"

"I try."

For a moment, Risha grew more serious. "Wouldn't you rather kill him yourself, after all?"

"I wanted to, you know." Mhyra's fingers danced over the keyboard as she copied the files. "But then I began thinking. And I decided I'd rather let him live. And let him know that I know he lives, and where, and that I can find him and kill him any day. And let him know all the nice guys from the Guild are hunting him. And see how he'll enjoy his life."

Truth to be told, Mhyra still wanted to kill him, from the moment she had glimpsed the password to his locker for the first time. If he had meant it as some kind of a joke, she did not find it funny. Not even mildly amusing. Still, given an opportunity, she would probably not be able to kill him – he would escape before she decided whether she wanted to kill him quickly, or slowly and painfully.

She had destroyed the code as soon as she had learned it. At first, she wanted to change it, but in the end she left it as it was, as a reminder and a warning. _Tatooine sunset_.

* * *

She expected to have her fun and leave. A bit of fun was one thing, but actually staying the night was quite another. Risky business, more often than not, and, on principle, Mhyra never did it.

She liked Darmas immediately, for his elaborate compliments and how they showed he was not dead serious about himself, how he knew his words were a bit cheesy and far too grand, how he seemed to be soundlessly laughing at it all, just as she was, and how he enjoyed the game. His confidence was bordering on arrogance, true, but he was suave enough to make it seem amusing rather than annoying. He might have posed as a gentleman, but he was a scoundrel through and through. Just as she was. Scoundrels were great fun, but not necessarily the people to be trusted.

So she expected a few more witty lines, some laughter, and then putting on her clothes, walking out and going about her business. She didn't expected Darmas to trust her enough to invite her to stay, because that was a thing one simply did not do in their business. As someone with considerable experience in the matter, he certainly should not do it.

"I was wrong about the sunset thing," Darmas muttered, smiling lazily.

Mhyra raised an eyebrow."Oh?"

He lightly tapped her cheek with his finger, as if examining a rare, delicate and very precious piece of art. "You, my dear, are as radiant as Tatooine suns at noon."

She grinned. "Blinding, you mean?"

"Quite so." And then he loosely wrapped an arm around her and fell asleep.

Mhyra stifled a laugh, amused by their banter and by the way he behaved, casually, as if it was a most natural thing that they should sleep together. After a moment she grew more serious and simply smiled. Neither of them was a person suited for serious words, nor for romantic confessions, not even for commitment. But the fact he simply fell asleep at her side was proof of his trust.

Still smiling, Mhyra yawned, ready to fall asleep, too. Trust for trust. And the Killik-silk bed sheets were by no means a discouragement. And if it all was just an elaborate plot to kill her, well, there were much worse ways of going down than in a comfortable bed, after a very nice and entertaining evening. Most people in her professions never lived long enough to see their retirement, anyway.

. . .

When he was sitting at the card table, it was easy to mistake him for a man too soft for the outlaw world, too groomed. But he seemed fun, and for Mhyra that was enough.

And, to his credit, she had to admit that he was fun. Even more than she anticipated – they were just well suited for each other. And Mhyra was curious to see what that acquaintance could turn into. Marriage and family were not her things, and neither was love. But friendship – well, that was another thing. And partnership. She was not going to fall in love with Darmas – she was not the type to fall in love with anything else than that beautiful feel of freedom when she set course for yet another planet – but she could see them becoming partners, someday, eventually. If he proved to be a good investment of her time.

Trust, though, was an entirely different matter. Mhyra was slow to trust, and always cautious – and it helped her immensely in business. But she did not trust Darmas, not yet, at least. There was a lot he was not telling, but it was obvious, and Mhyra didn't actually have anything against it – basically because she kept a lot of things to herself, too. Though she supposed he could make a few guesses, as could she.

For one, he was too well-built for someone spending his days at the sabacc table. He wasn't as muscular as Corso, more of a lean and wiry type, but it was clear he didn't look like that thanks to sabacc. So Mhyra guessed it was rather thanks to hunting people who either tried to cheat him or did not pay their debts. Which was fine by her, really. If you started playing cards for serious, you knew the risks, and if you tried to cheat, you asked for trouble. Simple. She really liked the world she lived in for its simplicity.

"So," she asked lazily, moving her hand along his arm and then across his chest, down to his stomach, "got all this from playing sabacc?"

Darmas laughed. "Depends on which kind of sabacc you mean, sweetheart."

She lightly swatted him on the shoulder. "Now, do you only think of one thing?"

"Sabacc," he answered, managing to keep his face straight for a moment, and they both laughed.

"I was asking, not joking," she corrected, her moves lazy and words soft. She was still a little sleepy, but content – waking up with an agreeable man, after a really nice evening – well, she could think of no better way to make a morning better. "You don't get that much in shape from playing cards." She shrugged. "Can't blame a woman for being curious."

"Curiosity killed the nexu cub." Darmas smiled. "If you're hoping for an interesting story, sweetheart, I have none. Nothing you don't know from your personal experience, at least. Running your own little, ah, business, requires certain skills. As does getting your money from people who owe you."

"Oh, come on." She leaned closer, almost close enough for a kiss. "I'm not asking for details. Just for some more funny stories. I know you have them."

Darmas smiled at her briefly. "Not many funny stories there, sweetheart, trust me. But I can think of one or two you'll enjoy... Ah, later. By the stars, sweetheart... you've got the fastest hands this side of the galaxy..."

Mhyra laughed. "All sides of the galaxy," she whispered, before kissing him.

She was not quite a dedicated player, but she'd always liked sabacc. Both types.


	2. Chapter 2

II

The steady drizzle of cold rain plastered his hair to his head and clung to his clothes. He hated Dromund Kaas weather from the first time he had ever set foot on the planet.

By now, he was drenched, cold and annoyed, but so far no shuttle that had landed nearby had been sent for him. He knew the reason for that, of course, for making him wait like that – that was one of the oldest trick of the trade. He was supposed to be more complacent by the time he arrived to be briefed... or, more probably, interrogated. It was also quite possible he would simply be executed – that was what usually happened to those who failed the Empire.

He took a breath, trying to calm down, and waited, listening to snaps of conversation around him. If the rumours were true and Darth Zharia was indeed in Kaas city, he might have greater chances of survival... There were no fond memories on his part – though she had been quite agreeable for a Sith – but she had always seemed to have a soft spot for him, ever since being his first assignment, and spectacular success. Amusing, he thought with a wry smile, that he remembered all the names, files and faces, but there was nothing else, not even a glimmer of emotion.

His thoughts wandered back to Corellia and the great failure of his intricate plan – and to the courageous, daring Captain. He smiled, involuntarily – some part of his mind registered the fact and stored it away for further consideration sometime later. For now, he simply enjoyed the memory of her pretty face and her lively eyes. He shook his head, with a mildly self-condescending smile.

It was amusing, really, that he had not expected it would happen at some point. After all, he had been loyal to the Empire for his whole life. So it should come as no surprise that, having found the right woman, he would stay faithful to her, too, at least in his thoughts, if not in deeds or words.

He belonged to the Empire, as did his words and actions. And many of his thoughts. But not all of them. No, no longer all of them. And somehow, deep down, he knew that was how falls from grace usually began. One thought given away, then another and another, more and more, and then came errors in judgement, hesitation, and, ultimately, grave mistakes – like Corellia. He laughed at the word 'grave'. Yes, that could be his future, if he was not careful enough.

Though, usually, he was. Careful, resourceful and dedicated – one of the most effective Imperial agents. He gathered information about ancient treasures, lost technological devices, newest inventions, stolen weapons, and sometimes the mentioned items themselves – the underworld had a lot to offer, if one knew how to look. And among those who knew, he was one of the best.

He had been on Nar Shadda first, and then on Coruscant, earning his way up the criminal hierarchy. Just another disillusioned young man, hoping to earn some profits, or at least that had been how others had perceived him. He had started in one of the smaller gangs, and then had left them and joined the Web, a big, well-camouflaged group specialising in gathering and selling information, and over time had become one of the gang's lieutenants. He had then handed them over to the Empire, having staged the escape for himself and few of his fellow 'Spiders', so that no one had ever suspected him. After that, he had withdrawn from open activity, moving to Coruscant and quickly becoming a well-known, reliable and expensive information broker, assuming the name he had later been using for years – and thus Darmas Pollaran had came into existence.

He had always despised most of his 'friends' in the criminal circles, but had hid it well, and had earned their trust – or as much trust as could ever be earned in such a profession. But that way of life... He had resented it at first, too, had thought it too idle, but over time he had learned to enjoy it. It had been peaceful, for most of the time, quite entertaining – it had seemed more like a nice retirement than an actual assignment.

There had been women, too. Some had been necessary steps to gain information, some also pleasant distractions, which had always been a bonus. There had also been a brief flirt – just a few talks, nothing more – with a fellow undercover agent, a pretty, haughty Chiss lady, who had shared much of his view of the world and the Empire, but they had both known any commitment would hinder their work, so they had parted ways quickly.

And then Mhyra had come into his life. She had been just a name at first, just another lead, then an interesting face, seen on the holo. He smiled, recalling their first meeting.

He had not noticed it, back then, but now, when he flipped through all the memories, he saw the signs clearly. Because he needed to add some measure of authenticity to his game, it had became more real to him. Over time, the whole affair became real, and the infatuation he had faked in the beginning had become real, too. It was even possible that it had always been real.

One the way from Corellia, he had thought what a shame it would be should he be given orders to deceive her again. But waiting for the shuttle there on Dromund Kaas, drenched by the persistent, cold rain, he realised, with disappointing clarity, that there would be no new orders. He was there to hand over all the information he had, and then his career would be over, and, quite possibly, his life would be over with it.

. . .

"Darth Zharia explicitly forbid killing you. Bad for morale, she called it." The Keeper grimaced; they both knew the real reason.

The Imperial Intelligence worked tirelessly for the Sith and served them... But, knowing that the Sith's favour was changeable, it was better to take care of the safety. Rumours, information, perhaps even pardon – that was what a Sith Lord's fond memories could provide.

"Officially, Cipher Eleven, you're being released from service to enjoy your retirement, you current failure forgiven in light of yours earlier successes. Unofficially..." The Keeper's voice was devoid of all emotion. "You're being released from service."

He knew much too well what that meant. Not that he had not expected it. "It's a death sentence."

"And what did you expect, after such a spectacular failure?" Keeper asked.

There was no reply; he knew the question was rhetorical.

"Perhaps if you run fast enough and hide well enough, you will live for some time yet." The Keeper smiled coldly. "Perhaps you could try hiding under Darth Zharia's skirts."

He laughed. "That assignment was your idea, Keeper, not mine. Not my fault I've always been one of your best agents. I still am," he reminded.

"What kind of best agent fails at so many details of just one plan?" The Keeper frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "You shouldn't have let that smuggler catch you, and you did. You should have convinced the Corellians to turn against her; you didn't. And even if we ascribe those failures to bad luck, one still remains, and it's the worst of them all. You should have killed her and you didn't. It is because of your failure that we lost Corellia and one of our most efficient officers. Do you have anything at all that could convince me to spare you?"

"I gave you information."

The Keeper's stare bore into him. "Everything you had?"

He allowed himself a bitter smile. "Whatever answer I give, you will not believe me, will you, Keeper?"

"No, I will not believe you. You see, that is the very crux of the matter. I cannot trust you anymore. And that makes you useless." The Keeper scowled. "Be grateful for Darth Zharia's... fond memories." He paused. "If I were you, I'd start running, find some forgotten planet and lie low. Because one day we will find you, Cipher. And it will be your last."

He offered an off-handed, mocking salute. "Thank you for warning me, Keeper."

Back on Corellia, he had considered having his facial features changed, in order to hide. But now he decided to keep his face, and the name he had been using over the last few years. If they wanted to play a game with him, a game they would get. And if he would have to go down eventually, he will not do it as a coward, hiding in some dark hole. No. He would play their game and laugh at them until the very end.

And he still had a few aces up his sleeve. Yes, he had handed the data crystals over – but not all of them. Copies of many files were back on Port Nowhere – he had meant it just as means of safety, but now, if the Jedi got the files, it would be a decent enough revenge. And there were a few files he had never copied, just left them in his database – though he doubted Mhyra would ever bother to find them, much less to decipher what it meant.

There were also some files that he had deleted, just before Corellia. Inconsequential, he called them, unimportant, just rubbish that would give no useful information to any intelligence technician. But in truth, after Belsavis, he had just wanted some of those memories to be only his, to remains his private thoughts.

* * *

He had not been expecting her. True, a part of him had hoped that she would show up after going to Belsavis, even just for a moment, but he had not expected it. And yet there she was, in his cabin, in his bed, wearing a short silk nightdress, with her hair still damp after a shower.

The sight made him smile, before he could think of it – so his smile was completely honest this time. Stars, but he was glad to see her. He still thought it was a shame that someone as smart as her should use her skills just to her own advancement, but... Some part of him found that interesting. And, though he would never admit it loud, her peculiar understanding of freedom and the way she seemed to enjoy every breath of it was part of what made her so alluring.

Mhyra smiled, amused by the look of surprise on his face. "Missed me?"

It didn't take much effort to laugh. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

In a way, it was true. He could not stop thinking about her ever since her departure. He could not stop thinking that the whole business was coming to an end, that his assignment was coming to an end... And that it might mean he would have to kill her. And he was not certain he could do it. He was only certain that he did not want to.

"I'm glad to see my beauty makes you speechless, but I really haven't come across half the galaxy just to have you staring at me for the whole night," Mhyra remarked, her eyebrows arching.

"Trust me, my dear, I intend to do much more than look." He walked over, sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss her.

To think of it, they spent a great deal of time kissing. And usually, it was playful; he would tell her some silly compliments and she would laugh at them, and he would laugh with her and quieten her with a kiss, only to repeat everything a few moments later.

He tried to think of a compliment, of something to make her laugh, but he could not come up with anything. Not this night. Not with all that was about to happen weighting on his mind.

Mhyra brushed her fingers through his hair. "You're awfully pensive today." She watched him closely for a moment, then made a face. "What is it? You lost a game of sabacc, with Port Nowhere at stake?"

It was obvious she was just joking, trying to cheer him up a little, but he actually found that endearing. And it was very easy to honestly laugh at her question. "Fortunately, nothing so terrible."

"So nothing to worry about, right?" She grinned, her hand sliding around his neck to pull him closer. "Come here and I'll tell you a secret."

He complied, leaning closer, until her breath fanned over his ear. "I'm listening."

"It might be a shock to you... But you know, not all people talk that much in bed."

He laughed again, resting his forehead against the pillow briefly, then turning his head to nuzzle her neck. "I haven't talked that much before, either. You're just the first woman I have so much to say to."

"Well, thank you. What I wanted to say, because it seems you misunderstand – you don't have to talk if you don't feel like it, and it'll be fine."

And, because he really did not feel like talking, he kissed her instead of replying. When he pulled away to catch his breath, Mhyra smiled at him briefly.

"See? You're doing fine."

She kept repeating it later, at random moments, and finally she made him laugh. That was when, for the first time in his life, he regretted having lied to someone for the Empire. More than that, he regretted having lied to her at all, no matter the cause.

"See? You did fine," she said later, when she curled up and he put his arm around her.

"Just fine? My, I'm getting sloppy..."

She playfully smacked his hand. "You're incorrigible."

He shifted closer to her and nuzzled her neck. "Doing my best."

She did not reply, just curled up some more, ready to go to sleep.

He kissed her shoulder. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

"Try to get some sleep, too."

He held her, listening to her even breaths and thinking. He had liked her from the beginning, had always found her attractive, but that night was different. Earlier, he tried to distance himself from everything, but that night he felt the connection, and he was not able to just brush it away and forget it. Ah, he was not in love, maybe just smitten with her a little, but still... There was, clearly, some emotional investment on his part. Which complicated things terribly. First, he had to complete the assignment despite that, and second, he had to hide it from his allies.

One thing was certain, though. He was going to talk Dodonna out of getting Mhyra killed. Personal complications aside, she still could be a valuable asset to the Empire, if they paid her enough. And if not... Well, if the circumstances were right, he would gladly continue their, well, acquaintance.

He kissed Mhyra's shoulder lightly, not wanting to wake her up. He should get up, he really should... Just a moment longer, he thought. Just a moment. One of their earlier talks came to his mind, the one about the coldness of space, warm bed and silk sheets. With a wry smile, he thought how true it was. For the first time in years – decades – the space seemed cold to him. Too cold, compared to Mhyra's warm body right there in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

_Guest starring: Star Miya's smuggler, Chalinda._

* * *

III

Many people would have celebrated, having accomplished so much. But Mhyra just concentrated on work . She was aware that the power vacuum in the underground world would not last forever. But for the while the scales were tipped in her favour, and she wanted to make the most of it. She made holo-calls, met with friends and called in favours, building and stabilising her little empire bit by bit.

Risha was helping her, running Port Nowhere and seeking powerful, wealthy allies, while her fiancé was trying to win the throne back for her. But it was clear that at some point she would leave for Dubrillion.

Corso had left to rejoin the Republic military, probably with his heart broken, though really, Mhyra had tried to do as little as she could to encourage the kid. Akavi Spaar had also left – and good riddance, Mhyra thought, because she had never liked the Mandalorian.

Bowdaar stayed by her side as her loyal bodyguard and co-pilot. Gus stayed, too, and Mhyra found him a job that should guarantee some safety both to him and others around – he was in a makeshift lab on Coruscant, overseeing a small medical facility and kolto production.

It seemed that most of her friends were doing well. Chalinda was still working with Nico Okarr, both playing Republic privateers, and both making some serious credits on it. Alilia was running the White Maw, but independently, not as part of Mhyra's crew. Beryl Thorne and her friends did some jobs for Mhyra from time to time, but they were not working for her on regular basis, and could not be counted as her people. She knew, having learned from Nok Drayen's and Diago Hixan's experiences, that being too powerful was not a good thing, as too many people could and eventually did get jealous. So she preferred to have some friendly competition – or at least one not opposed to peaceful dealings – than to have only enemies.

As long as she remained a single player, not a head of a large group, she was considerably safer. Especially considering that Rogun the Butcher was still alive, and that his criminal empire was still the biggest. But there were other enemies, ones that would not be placated by such tricks.

She doubted the Empire would ever forget that she had killed one of their admirals. Eventually, someone would come for her, seeking revenge, or maybe just to teach her a lesson. A smuggler getting rid of one of their highest-ranking officers – that was a crime that the Imperials could not simply close their eyes to.

So, once every holo-call was made, every message sent and every meeting finished, and Port Nowhere was safely stationed near Coruscant, in the very seat of the Republic, Mhyra decided it was time to go on vacation. Or, rather, to go into hiding for some time, but that wasn't how she told it to her crew.

And there was probably only one place in the universe where the Empire could overlook her and from where she could still run everything. Better than that – a place where, had the Empire come looking for her, she could still hide and never be found. Tatooine. Far enough from the galaxy to be uninteresting – both the Empire and the Republic had battled over the planet for a while, but had eventually left, as it had simply been not worth it. Far, but close enough so that messages and cargo could be passed with ease.

And she had friends there. Well, maybe friends was an overstatement, but some of the people that had worked for her father once still lived there, and she could count on them. More than that, she could trust them. True, she did not know where to find them, not after over a decade – they had probably moved several times since then. But they always knew how to find someone they were looking for. And they were always looking out for her.

And, as she had predicted, they found her, in her hideout on the outskirts of Anchorhead. To think of it, they had probably been watching her from the moment she had set foot on Tatooine. And once they had found her, they came straight to her. On Tatooine, no one paid attention to a small group of suspiciously-looking, heavily armed mercenaries, in fervent hopes that they would in turn not pay any attention to him.

Their leader was a huge man, half as wide as he was tall, and just a bit more bald and with more grey in his beard than she remembered. She grinned and waved at him, and he waved back.

"Uncle Jard!" she called.

He was not crying, but his eyes definitely looked watery. "Ah, little Mhyra..." He briefly crushed her in a hug. "All grown up now. You father would be so proud..."

She raised her hands, cutting his words short. "Please, not now. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, isn't it?"

"Sure thing, girl. Come on, you'll meet the gang." His brow furrowed. "How much trouble are you in, exactly?" he asked, guessing the reason of her arrival.

"Just a little." She winked. "You know us Galens."

Jard Hall, ex-soldier, ex-mercenary and retired smuggler, sighed. "I was afraid of that. But don't worry, girl, we'll hide you. And kill anyone that'll try to come after you. You'll just have to tell us who your friends are, because we wouldn't want to hunt them down, too, would we?"

. . .

"Well, for Taooine, this is pretty cosy." Risha stretched out on a pile of embroidered pillows and reached for her drink. "Though..." she grimaced. "I'd rather have wine than this."

"Trust me, this is better in that heat." Mhyra took a sip of her beer. It was a light ale, slightly fruity, slightly spicy and very refreshing, especially served cold. "And yes, I think my little hiding hole turned out quite fine."

Risha sighed in exasperation. "Listen, it's not your comfort that I'm concerned about. It's your safety."

"No need." Mhyra smiled. "Trust me, Risha, there are places on this planet that no one would ever search in for anyone. And they're not even that hidden."

"So the rumours are true, then?" Curiosity flashed in Risha's eyes. "I've heard someone at the spaceport, talking about a mad woman who has some dealings with the Sand People. Like, she gave them back the Lightspring, and when she settled in another cave near their territory, they didn't kill her. Bah, they didn't even protest. Well, the rumour has it that they've never tried to shoot her. You know anything about that?"

Mhyra kept smiling. "I might."

"Come on. Keeping secrets from me, after all we've been trough?"

"Ah, but remember that you kept secrets from me, too, Your Majesty."

"Oh, please, don't." Risha shook her head. "Fine, fine, I won't pry."

"Let's just say that I have friends here. And some of them worked for my father. Does the name Old Hall ring any bells?"

"Jard Hall? Jard 'Sergeant' Hall? He's here? Half of the bounty hunters all across the galaxy were looking for him, after the Empire offered to pay even more credits for his head, and he's hiding on Tatooine?"

"Not where anyone would look." Mhyra smiled again.

"Alright, now I believe you're safe here." Risha relaxed and settled more comfortably on the pillows. "How long are going to stay?"

"A couple of months?" Mhyra shrugged. "However long it will take the Empire to find more pressing matters than hunting me down. Well, maybe a little shorter, if I find a job than will land me in company of some competent, handsome Jedi Knights."

"I can ask Sumalee to find you some work..."

"Aw, I knew you were going to miss me, but that's really sweet of you to admit it."

Risha rolled her eyes, shook her head again, and finally laughed. "Fine, I won't ask her. Enjoy your vacation."

"I'm definitely going to. But keep your eyes open for good work opportunities."

Risha smiled. "Darling, I'm always on the lookout for good opportunities."

. . .

Mhyra felt that she should be celebrating, really. In the past, it had never taken half as much as she had just accomplished. But this time, she did not feel like celebrating. But, since she already was on Tatooine, she could do something else.

Finding the place was not difficult – the sandstorms changed the face of the planet, shifting the dunes, but the rock formations remained. That, and she could ask uncle Jard to find her a reliable guide. Some of her father's people were still on Tatooine, and made it a point of honour to help her if they only could, or at least to see to her safety.

She visited the site – there were no sings, after all the years, but she knew and remembered – and spilled a bottle of the most expensive wine she had onto the sand. Ah, Papa would have liked it, and so would Mum. But there was no point in dwelling on the past, was there? Her parents had been the first people to teach her so. They had loved freedom, and they would often take a bottle of expensive wine – which her father would get especially for her mother – and visit their friends, to dance together and celebrate life and freedom.

And that was why she took more wine and went to visit uncle Jard and his friends – those old that she knew, and those that she had met only recently, like the female Zabrak who claimed that she used to be a Jedi Knight. They drank together, and later some of them reached for drums and other instruments which names she couldn't remember, and they danced long into the night. Not the kind of dance she would do in a cantina, no. Something more connected to the desert and the wind, something more primal, but more sophisticated – something more natural, that called to her heart, because if freedom had been a dance, it would be that one.

But that was a part of her that Mhyra rarely ever showed to others, even those close to her. Maybe because she showed it rarely even to herself. But sometimes she needed that, to get some rest. And then she was back to the sarcastic, cheeky captain everyone knew. Because, among the things she liked in life, credits, adventures, drinking with friends and dancing scored really high.

* * *

Another package delivered to its new owner safely – that was a good excuse for celebrating. That, and freeing Bowdaar from Drooga the Hutt – though the Wookie decider that he'd rather celebrate by having a few hours of silence, a good meal and some sleep, and Mhyra respected that.

Risha, for once, decided to leave the ship for a while, but she quickly got bored with teasing Corso, and returned to the _Wheel of Fortune_. Corso stayed, and soon they were joined by Mhyra's old friend, Chalinda. Back when they both had been about Corso's age, they had been working with Nico Okarr, and over time they had become close friends. And then, over time, because work tended to throw them across the galaxy, their friendship had loosened, but still they met from time to time to chat and talk about the good old days and good new days. So when they had learned that they both had business on Nar Shaddaa, they had immediately decided to meet.

That was definitely a good night. _Club Vertica_ had everything a smuggler might want on an evening off: great drinks, live music and luxury. Sure, the prices were high, but it was worth the money, and since their recent job had earned them a nice amount of credits, prices were not a problem. So they danced, drank and danced again, and drank some more. Then Corso kept drinking, Mhyra switched to dancing, and Chalinda was busy flirting with every handsome man – of any species – in the cantina.

Mhyra had just finished another drink and was getting up for another round of dancing. Corso was watching her sullenly; apparently, he had finally given up trying to get Mhyra's attention, after a few failed attempts.

She shook her head, laughing at him silently, careful not to let him see that. Oh, he was a nice kid, chivalrous and all... But still just a kid, at least for her. Too naive, not sarcastic enough, too unsure of himself, and to eager to please. It was obvious that he was fascinated by her, but Mhyra was just not interested. Simple as that.

And that was when she stopped thinking and started dancing. It was a good night, really. She had helped Bowdaar, which was important because of her past. She had gotten her ship back, and had even something of an acceptable crew, which was a bonus. The business was good... Mhyra smiled to herself. Also, there was Darmas. He was still a bit of a puzzle to her, but their acquaintance certainly seemed very promising.

She had not replied to his message, not yet – letting a man wait a little was always a good strategy – but she smiled every time she recalled it. And the holo-sculpture he had sent was nice, too. She was not an expert in art – well, aside from the 'where could it be sold and for how much' aspect – but it was pleasant to look at, and it was nice of him to send her something.

When another song was over, she decided to return to the bar and get another drink. She loved dancing, but it was tiring business.

"Captain Galen!" called a familiar voice when she approached the bar.

She turned and found herself face to face with a smiling, pleasantly surprised Darmas Pollaran.

"And here I thought you were doing some legitimate work." She grinned. "And then I find you in a cantina."

"Just waiting for a business meeting." He loosely wrapped an arm around her, and she stepped close, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Which is most unfortunate, because I'd rather have a meeting with you, sweetheart."

Mhyra laughed. "Flatterer." She reached for his glass and took a sip. "Water? By the stars, you weren't joking..."

"Disappointed, sweetheart?" When he wanted to, he could smile like a real scoundrel, and she liked that. It was both funny and a bit appealing, and it was obvious he knew that, too. "I know I am. To think that I'll have to leave such a lovely woman so soon..."

She pulled away and arched her eyebrows. "I'm sure it's a crime somewhere," she said, in her most serious voice.

They both laughed.

"Ah, I missed that." Darmas smiled at her, then waved at the barman to order her a drink.

"So, tell me, because I don't understand... If you're working, and I really think you are, because you'd be drinking wine otherwise... Then what are you doing in a cantina?"

"Waiting for my contact. And I'd rather wait in a cantina than at a hotel or at the spaceport."

She nodded. "Okay, you have a point."

"I'm waiting for a holo-call, and then I'll have to leave immediately, but..." His voice dropped a little. "I'm pretty sure I have enough time for one dance. What would you say, sweetheart?"

Mhyra smiled. "Oh, you know how to convince a woman..."

. . .

They were dancing slowly, bodies gently pressed together, his warm hand at her waist, his fingers barely brushing the small of her back. Mhyra kept smiling, glancing up at Darmas from time to time. It was all just a game, but what a delightful game it was.

"So you think now it's time to be subtle?" she asked, arching her eyebrows. "After all the flirting and after, ah, sabacc?"

He laughed quietly, then turned his head slightly to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "Subtle is always good, darling. Everyone needs subtlety sometimes." And then he pulled her closer, close enough for a kiss. "Although I'd rather be having another game of sabacc with you, my dear. But, alas, it seems my work is in the way."

"Are you sure you didn't mean 'a woman', mhm?" She pulled, steering them towards a darker corner of the cantina. There was no way she was going to let the rascal go without at least a proper kiss.

"Oh, there is a woman. Senator Dodonna, who hired me," he reminded, then laughed again. "She can't hold a candle to you, sweetheart... Wait." He looked at her closely, his hand coming up to touch her cheek. "My, my... Are you jealous, Captain Galen?"

"Jealous? Oh, really?" Mhyra held her head higher, feigning indifference and trying not to laugh. "Would I really miss so much?"

"Ouch, that was a nasty blow to my pride..." He pretended that her words had hurt him, but his eyes were laughing.

"I'm sure you'll recover in no time." She grasped the front of his tunic. "Remind me, why should I be jealous?"

Smiling lazily, Darmas leaned to kiss her. A slow, unhurried kiss, meant to seduce. He definitely knew very well what he was doing... and that was what she liked in him.

"Okay, I might reconsider... But surely, Darmas Pollaran, you can do better, can't you?"

He laughed. "Ah, sweetheart, you're a delight. And you should never be jealous, because anyone who would choose another woman is not worthy of you." And then he kissed her again, putting an arm around her waist to keep her close.

Mhyra wound her hands around his neck and happily let him kiss her. Yes, Nar Shaddaa had always been her good luck charm.

And then his comm beeped quietly. Darmas cursed under his breath, then flashed an apologetic smile at her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. There's business to be done. But I'll contact you when I'm back. Unless you don't want that, of course..."

She smiled up at him, her fingers curling into his hair. "Isn't it bad manners to invite a lady for a game of sabacc and then leave her?"

"Ah, you mean my message?" He smirked. "I'd never do something like that, of course. I pride myself on my manners. So, when I get back, I'll find you and renew my invitation." He leaned in for another kiss, which was an invitation all on its own. "In person." Darmas stepped back, smiling at her. "Good hunting, Captain Galen."

She grinned, watching him walk out of the cantina. Yes, that really was a promising acquaintance. And, unlike Corso, Darmas was a man who could offer what she was looking for, but without any complications. And with life experience. A proper amount of right life experience was always a good thing.

. . .

"So," Chalinda grinned, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "You and Darmas Pollaran, eh? Who'd have thought." She raised her glass to Mhyra. "You're in for a treat, girl."

"Oh." Mhyra arched her eyebrows. "So you and Darmas have...?"

"What? Force forbid, no!" Chalinda laughed. "It was years ago, and a one-time thing. I was a little tipsy, he was a little tipsy... We danced, kissed a little, nothing more. But I've heard some rumours." The Twi'lek grinned. "Well, anyway, he's all yours."

"Oh, come on. We both know that type of men."

"From what I know, he's not as terrible a flirt as people think." Chalinda giggled. "Well, anyway, you two should get on perfectly."

"So, what about you? Still doing business with Jet?"

"Nope. Remember Nico Okarr?"

"That old flyboy who's become the Republic's hero? Of course." Nico was one of the few people in the galaxy that Mhyra would call friends. At least sort of. They had worked together a few times, they had flirted a bit – more just to pass time that for any other reason, and it never got further than a few jokes. "Still wearing his trademark hat? You're still working with him?"

"Yes, and yes. We're doing business together."

"Uh-oh." Mhyra whistled.

"Shut up. But, well, yes, we're business partners, more or less."

"Are congratulations in order?"

"Mhyra. Shut up. And grab another beer." Chalinda grinned. "And tell me some more of you and Darmas."

"Well..." Mhyra smiled lazily. "Not much to tell yet. But, whatever his reputation in sabacc is, I think he earned it."

"Which type of sabacc do you mean?"

Mhyra grinned. "Well, I can only speak of one, but I think he's good at cards, too."


	4. Chapter 4

IV

He grew a beard – although at first he was sorely tempted to shave it off, annoyed by the constant itching – let his hair grow longer, dressed in some nondescript clothes and a worn, sand-coloured cloak. It seemed almost too easy, but no one recognised him. Different clothes, different walk and some facial hair – that was enough to change a man. And Tatooine, among many other advantages it could offer someone who wanted to hide, was also one of the planets where no one was surprised at seeing a man with a piece of cloth wrapped around his head – quite many did that to keep the sand out of their airways. Wearing a hood did not make anyone looking any more suspiciously either – worst that could happen was being mistaken for an overgrown Jawa.

No one paid any real attention to him. And thanks to that he could lie low... and listen to the rumours. He had to make a living somehow, and information was a currency accepted everywhere.

Darmas sighed, trying to shake sand out of his hair. Blasted sand. But Tatooine seemed like the safest hiding place right now, with the struggles between the Republic and the Empire ended months earlier. But, without either the Empire or the criminal underworld, he felt oddly... lost. No longer sure who he really was. He had been certain back then on Corellia, before the Empire had thrown him away. But now... after years of pretending to be the smug, gambling information broker, he found it difficult to get rid of some of the mannerisms, even of that way of speaking he had employed for most of the time for years... It startled him when he discovered that parts of his act had been no act at all, at least at the end. Over the years of posing as the information broker, he had become... quite accustomed to that persona. Fond of it, even. It was, in many regards, an easier, more pleasant life.

He had heard of some agents experiencing similar problems, had even known an agent who had left the Empire, supposedly for a woman, but had never imagined it could ever happen to him. Not to him, surely? Not one of the best Imperial agents?

To think of it, it was amusing, really. He had been attracted to her from the beginning, but had thought it just a nice bonus to his work. Then he had pretended – not ostentatiously, no, she would never have fallen for that – to be smitten with her – and it had come very easily to him, something that should have alarmed him in the first place. The funny thing was that at some point, that part of his cover had become true, too.

And – amusing, really – he had told the truth, back there on Corellia. He had deceived many people, but the daring captain was the only one who had made him regret it. That had been just more proof of what a remarkable woman she was.

. . .

At first, there were rumours. About some off-world lady, establishing a base on Tatooine and running her business from there. Then some people started claiming that she was a local woman. There was also a man who swore that he had seen her dealing with the Sand People, when everyone knew that the only kind of deal the Sand People ever did with others was shooting them. Strangely, soon others started telling similar tales. Because of those stories people, ascribing the woman's achievements to luck rather than her knowledge and skills, eventually began calling her Lady Fortune. And Darmas was certain that he could make a very educated guess about the mysterious woman's identity.

And then, one day, he quite literally ran into her in the market. He raised both hands in a gesture of apology, and she just nodded and walked her way. He stared after her. She was wearing a wide-sleeved robe with a long skirt, and over that was a vest and some kerchiefs, all colourful and glittering, and her hair was hidden under a headdress. But her face looked exactly as he remembered. Fortunately, she was gone before he could think of doing anything stupid, like talking to her.

But that chance meeting reminded him that he was not the only one the Empire was looking for. After Mhyra had killed Kirill, it was certain that they would want to hunt her down. It was time, he decided, to get back into business.

. . .

He spent a lot of time in the cantina, sitting at a table in a darker corner. Sometimes, he did not come for a day or two, and sometimes he completely changed his appearance. It did not take him long to find people ready to work for him, and just a bit longer to check who was reliable. And he noticed very quickly how helpful the Jawas could be to him – they were everyone, but no one really noticed them. More, they often had some droids accompanying them. That was a perfect opportunity, just begging to be used. And that was precisely what he did.

Sometimes, he spotted familiar faces in the cantina or about town, but he rarely approached them. Most of those he knew wanted to kill him, and while he was not afraid in the slightest and fairly confident in his skills with a blaster, it was best to avoid such mess. He was still a newcomer to the planet, after all.

But one evening, seeing a familiar green-faced Mirialan girl, he made an exception. It was obvious that she was there on a job, and it was not very hard to guess that she had to be working for Mhyra.

"Kixi, darling, what a pleasant surprise."

She eyed him warily for a long moment, but finally recognised him. "Well, well... And here I thought I'd never see you again." She crossed her arms on her chest. "What do you want?"

He smiled at her. "I thought you would be one of the very few people who would not shoot me on sight."

She shrugged. "Working for you was good business. I don't care what you did with the info I gave you."

He gestured towards the nearby table, and she reluctantly agreed to sit with him.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly.

His best chance of getting this done his way was telling her straightforwardly what it was about. Mhyra had helped her, after all, and Kixi was a girl nice enough not to forget about being grateful for help.

"It's about Captain Galen."

"Ah." She relaxed a little, no longer so suspicious. "If it's about her, I think I can help. But that depends on what you want me to do."

"I want to send a message, that's all. A warning."

Kixi snorted. "She doesn't need your warnings to guess what the Empire wants to do to her."

"I know that. But I have information that can be useful to her. About agents who might be sent after her. About the prices they can pay the bounty hunters..."

"Ah. So it's true, then."

"What?"

"That you left. Or they kicked you out." She shrugged. "Anyway, you're not one of them any longer. Okay, I can take the message."

He nodded. "Get the message to Alilia of the White Maw."

"Yeah, why not to Rogun the Butcher himself? Because getting to the leader of the White Maw will be too easy..."

"Kixi. I know you worked for them. So just do it." He reached into his pocket and took out a credit chip. "I can pay you well enough, I think."

Kixi got up and straightened, evidently offended. "Keep your money. I don't charge for helping friends. And I mean her, not you." She paused. "Anything else?"

"No. Just... take that with you." He gave her a single sabacc card, the Idiot. "She'll understand."

. . .

It was just a coincidence, really. One afternoon, when he came back to his hideout, he noticed that someone had been there. He found no one nearby, but knew that he had to be on alert. Not able to find any tracks that would lead him to discovering who had been there, he decided to at least check how well his hideout was camouflaged. And then, when he was making a round of what he considered his property, he spotted a small group of Sand People. That close to the town... Well, it was far enough, and most of those who lived in Anchorhead never went that far, but still, that was closer than most Sand People approached, and Darmas found that interesting.

So he followed them. Quietly, and staying out of sight – which was not difficult there, among so many rocks. It should have gone well. But then, when he turned, he saw that the shallow gorge ended in a sinkhole with only one way in and out, stone walls all around him – not very high, but high enough to make getting out nigh impossible. And then, suddenly, the Sand Poeple were everywhere, crying out and pointing their guns at him. Behaving strangely to attract someone's attention in order to kill and rob him later – well, that was something that Sand People could do.

He was certain that they would kill him. Not that he was afraid – he had done what he wanted, and did not doubt that Kixi would warn Mhyra – not that she really needed a warning. But there were some regrets. Much more that he had thought he would have.

Strangely, even though all the guns were pointed at him, no one tried to shoot. And then one of the Sand People reached up for his mask and took it off.

"Well, long time no see, old pal," said Noram Tharn, once Cipher Seven, grinning madly.

Darmas did not know whether he was more relived, surprised or in awe. Ingenious! That was just ingenious. What better place to hide than on a planet infamous for its sand and being a hive of all kinds of scum and villainy, but in plain sight? No one ever bothered with the Sand People, no one tried to attack them, everyone left them to their own devices. And while most probably some of the Sand People tribes were actually a separate species, closest to a native species that Tatooine had, perhaps there were other tribes like the one that had captured him?

"You always liked dramatic entrances," replied Darmas at last, having more or less come to himself.

"They kicked you out, too, didn't they?" Tharn was not asking; he knew the answer.

"Yes. I should have believed you when you said... Listen, can you tell your friends to stop aiming at me? I really have an allergy for blaster bolts."

Noram laughed. "You haven't changed one bit, rascal." He turned to his men. "Alright, guns down. You too, Rin. He's a friend. Or at least the enemy of our enemy." He nodded at Darmas. "I'm afraid you have to come with us. Old Hall has a few questions."

Darmas quickly connected a few rumours he had heard, put some facts together and made an educated guess. "Does your Old Hall, by any chance, know anyone by the name Galen?"

Tharn's face grew serious, and his eyes narrowed. "Funny that you should ask..."

Darmas laughed, quietly, but heartily. Ah, the galaxy was such a small place... And the Force truly had a really peculiar sense of humour.

. . .

Old Hall, as it turned out, knew someone by the name Galen. Although he insisted on calling her Lady Fortune. Well, at least he insisted that Darmas should call her so, because he called her 'their girl' in a voice that uncles usually use to speak of their favourite nieces. Another interesting piece of the puzzle.

Darmas would laugh at Hall and his way of speaking of Mhyra, if the old man had not been a head taller, considerably wider and a lot better armed than Darmas himself. So, instead, he kept a straight face, listened, and did not speak unless asked.

"So you used to be an Imperial agent. And now you're here. And you know our girl." Hall petted his shotgun as if it was a loyal akk dog. "I have some theories. And I don't like them one bit. And I don't like you, either. So..." Hall's brow furrowed in a way which would have looked comical on a man not holding a loaded gun, pointed right into Darmas' face. "What do you want?"

"To warn her," said Darmas immediately, without hesitation.

He wanted to warn her that the Empire would come looking for her. But suddenly, among those strange people hiding there without really hiding at all, he began doubting whether his warning had any sense. If they had managed to fool everyone for so long, were they not more than capable of keeping Mhyra safe? That was probably why she had come here in the first place.

"I've heard some rumours," said a female voice beside Tharn. Rin. Darmas did not recognise her clothes or mask, but he recognised her gun. "And I think he doesn't mean her any harm. Besides, he no longer has any reason to harm her." She took off her mask, revealing face tattoos and small horns. "And... I sense no lie in him. Not in this case, anyway."

Despite of all the guns around him, Darmas laughed. Rin. Of course. Rinalreni. Ah, he should have guessed earlier.

Rinalreni Driel had been a Jedi padawan. Her Master had spent a great deal of time on Coruscant, working closely with the Senate, and that had made her a perfect target for the Imperial Intelligence. Tharn, then Cipher Seven, had been ordered to seduce her. Which he had done, with great success... except that he had fallen in love with her in the process. Later, he had been commanded to kill her, even though they had been lovers – or maybe because of it. Strangely, he had gone missing shortly after... and the spies had reported that Rinalreni had also disappeared.

Well, his old friend had had the guts to leave the Empire and openly disobey the orders, at least. Darmas could say nothing like that of himself. And neither could he hope that Mhyra would be as forgiving as Rin, who had been brought up among the Jedi.

"Well, then. No harm will come to you." Hall stood up. "But if I were you, I'd keep away from here and stop seeking trouble. Trust me, boy, Tatooine is a planet where it's the trouble than finds you. You don't have to encourage it."

Darmas did not answer. And then Rin put the blindfold over his eyes again, and they took him to a speeder. By the morning, he was on the outskirts of Anchorhead, and they were gone.

He supposed he could have found their hideout, if he tried really hard. Yes, it was similar to other caves on Tatooine – seen one, seen them all – but there were little details here and there that would make it possible to recognise the place. They had not let him see the way, but still, he knew in which area to look. And yet something told him that even if he located the place, he would find no one there. Sand People were like the wind – left nothing behind that could tell of their passing once they were gone.

Darmas smiled. Mhyra was like the wind, too, but in a different way. Refreshing, invigorating and elusive. No wonder that she had caught his eye from the very beginning.

* * *

He recognised her immediately, as soon as she set foot in his cantina. Waiting for her to come closer, he allowed himself to watch her. Surprisingly, he felt a surge of attraction. Ah, work was always nicer with attractive women involved.

She was not classically pretty, but there was a spark to her eyes that made her seem very lively, and he liked that a lot. Her skin had a golden cast typical for some Mirialans, but the traditional tattoos covered only the lower part of her chin – easy to hide, but she would never be able to pass as a human. There was something about her colouring that reminded him of a desert sunset – reddish brown hair, like rocks illuminated by the setting sun, and eyes of warm washed violet, like the sky at sunset, framed by a matching make-up of deep blue, purple and hint of dim pink. And a smear of red on her lips, a sharper contrast to her lovely golden skin.

Darmas laughed at himself inwardly, mocking that poetic description and the comparison itself, but he could not really help it. He read a lot, as it tended to help with both designing and cracking codes, and he could not help remembering some of the phrases.

He decided to greet her with a sunset-themed compliment, just to see her reaction – whether she would be delighted by it or laugh at him. She did neither. She smiled, arched her eyebrows and replied in a similar, flirty fashion, recognising his game instantly and joining it. She seemed amused.

. . .

The task was simple enough – to seduce her. He had done it many times before, and he was good at it, even if he said so himself. Good enough that everything should go smoothly.

He considered using pheromones, just in case – that always worked flawlessly – but had no occasion. And it turned out that there was no need. Captain Mhyra accepted his invitation for a game of sabacc, instantly recognising it for what it was – such a bright, smart woman, he thought, and such a waste that she did not work for the Empire. She flirted right back, and she was the one to reach out first, to instigate the first kiss.

He did not even have to remind himself to close his eyes; truth to be told, he had imagined how it would be to kiss her. Now he knew. Intoxicating. It was intoxicating. He slid him arm around her waist to keep her close.

When the kiss ended and she pulled away a little, there was a merry twinkle in her eyes. "All right, enough with all the sabacc references. Any chances you have a nice, big bed somewhere near?"

He laughed, and she followed suit. It was all a game, but surprisingly delightful this time. "Killik-silk bed sheets, darling."

She laughed again. "Ah, you know how to charm a woman."

There was a number of tricks he thought of, but none would quite work on her, he could see that. No; to ensnare her, he would need something more. A dose of humour, and a dose of authenticity. So he simply let himself enjoy the assignment, without lowering his guard too much, and decided to just go through with more instinctual, natural responses, to do what he would do if he truly intended to just honestly flirt with that woman for the sheer fun of it, without any other motives involved.

Smiling, he gently tapped her chin with his index finger, as if she had been a playful nexu kitten or a peculiar work of art. "You're the charming one, sweetheart. Never doubt that."

The following hour was very pleasant, a surprisingly nice distraction from his routine. They laughed a lot, and much of it was not forced, on his part. It was refreshing to see how much joy she could find in the simple pleasures of life, how she seem to approach them with the same enthusiasm she usually gave adventures, how she seemed to savour it all and take nothing for granted.

"You snatch all the good things from life while you can, sweetheart, don't you?" he asked, lazily tracing her shoulder with a fingertip.

"Perhaps." She smiled comically, then laughed. "Someone once told me that men like mysterious women."

"Can't speak for others, sweetheart, but I certainly prefer you just as you are." He batted her hand away when she tried to tousle his hair. "Maybe your mysteriousness needs more practice, but, from what people say, it seems your luck is legendary. Lady Fortune owes you a lot of favours, mhm?"

She smiled, self confident and slightly mischievous. " _I_ am the lady of my fortune."

For just a moment, he thought what a shame it would be should he ever have to kill her.


	5. Chapter 5

V

Mhyra kept staring at the data crystal lying on the desk. It was given to one of her accomplices, Alilia, on Nar Shaddaa, by their acquaintance, Kixi. The girl had just approached Alilia, announced that she had a message, given her the crystal and said that Mhyra would know the password. And then she had given Alilia a sabacc card. It was the Idiot, and Mhyra knew, indeed.

"Did she say anything else?" she asked.

"Just that she was offered money to deliver it, but refused."

Mhyra took the data crystal, raised it up, turned it, watching the light reflexes that flared to life inside it. She had already checked its contents: information on some Imperial agents and assassins: their aliases, skills, weaknesses, contact points, hideouts. Even without the sabacc card, it would have been pretty obvious who had sent the crystal.

"In this world, nothing is free of charge, even if you can't see it at first," she muttered, to herself, then put the crystal back on the desk. "Can you find the man that had given this to Kixi?" she asked Alilia.

"I think Trick might. Or you could send Ivory. From what I've heard, he's good at finding people..."

Bowdaar, standing nearby, roared.

Mhyra nodded. "Good idea, pal. Li, Bowdaar will come with you. He'll keep Ivory in check. And you'll make sure they won't destroy everything in their way."

Bowdaar gave a roar of protest.

"I was just kidding," Mhyra placated. Then she turned back to Alilia. "But tell Ivory I just want him found, not dead." She knew very well what Ivory was good at. "And once you've found that man, pay him. I want you to do that, Li. You'll give him credits... And a sabacc card. And you'll tell him that I said that he will know."

Alilia grimaced. "Maybe you could explain it?"

"Another time," Mhyra answered curtly. "Besides, you'll see the explanation soon enough. And when you do, please make sure Ivory doesn't kill him."

. . .

Ivory had not killed him. Definitely not. But she'd never said he couldn't use other methods, he reminded. And, of course, Old Hall had recognised Bowdaar and Alilia, and had helped them. That was the only explanation how they could have found him so easily. She knew he was on Tatooine – Hall had informed her that they had bumped into him, or rather he into them. That was the reason she was back on Port Nowhere now. Because one planet was definitely not big enough for them both.

It also make Mhyra wonder how uncle Jard's men knew Darmas... Unless one of them was an ex-Imperial, too.

She glanced aside, at the, well, cargo that Ivory had delivered. And cursed. Inwardly, of course. Somehow she managed to appear calm and collected. And, just slightly, seething with anger.

"What do you think I'm supposed to do with him now?"

Ivory shrugged. "No idea. Kill him, if you want. Let someone win him in a game of sabacc. Or just use him as a wall decoration. Whatever you want, boss."

Mhyra gritted her teeth together. "Get out. I need to think. And, Ivory? Don't ever do anything like that again." She did not add that since she had gotten him out of Belsavis, she could get him back into the prison, if she wanted. But she did not have to put it into words.

Ivory, retaining some last bits of survival instinct, left without any of his usual ironic comments. Usually, Mhyra just responded in kind, and let him tease her. But right now she really wanted to shoot something.

She slumped against the desk and sighed. Fine, that was not the whole truth. She wanted answers. And... she might just be able to get them.

What was she supposed to do after that? Kill him? That would be too easy, she had come to that conclusion long ago. Just leave him as he was? No, she would get mad if she were to look at him every day. Sent him to the Jedi? Well, that might be the best choice. At least he'd be of some use. But first, she really needed some answers.

Mhyra walked over to the carbonite block. Strange, but there was no fear on Darmas' face, no surprise. Nothing. Well, not for long. She reached up and set the timer.

Then she patiently waited for the carbonite to thaw. And when it did and Darmas fell to the floor, she didn't catch him. She didn't ever move. Just waited.

He remained on his knees, leaning on his hands. Motionless. Listening. Trying to figure out where he was.

"The blindness is temporary, but you probably know that," she spoke at last.

He had the decency to look surprised. "I hadn't expected you'd do something like that."

"Not my idea. But since you're here..." she went silent. Well, let him wonder. She was too much of a realist to hope he would be afraid.

"You want answers, don't you?" he asked quietly and very calmly. Cautiously, even. So at least he was aware of the risk, and remembered that she could shoot him. Good.

"Smart as ever." There were many questions she wanted to ask him. But in the end, there was only one answer that really mattered. "You didn't shoot me on Corellia."

"I missed." He sat, still leaning on his hands for balance. Despite the fact that he could not see, his moves were confident, if cautious. Soft, fluid... The way he moved reminded her of a prowling nexu. Balanced, efficient, surprisingly graceful and deadly. Very different from what she remembered.

"Ah, please, surely you could lie better. You gave me enough time to duck the bullet, you waited until you were sure I noticed you. Why?"

For a moment, he was silent. Then he inhaled, and the loud breath sounded almost like a sigh. "Because I couldn't kill you, in the end."

Now it was her turn to be silent. She watched him closely for a moment. "I think you're not lying this time. Strange."

He shook his head. "You weren't meaningless, you know that."

"No, I don't!" Her answer was too loud, too emotional. "I don't know that. That's the problem, you see? You used me, tried to kill me..."

"Sweetheart, if I wanted to kill you, I would have."

"Don't be so sure of that. But fine, have it your way, you didn't want to kill me. Still, you shot at me. And then you left for the Empire."

To her surprise, he smiled. It was brief, bitter, but amused nonetheless. "And the Empire wouldn't take me back. Poetic irony, isn't it?"

Mhyra shrugged. "Don't tell me you didn't deserve it."

He smiled again, more amused this time. "Ah, I did, sweetheart. And I appreciate the irony." He paused. "So, what are you going to do with me? Use me as a wall decoration?"

"Don't flatter yourself." She straightened; he couldn't see her, but it was for her sake, not his. "You're going back into carbonite. And then, when you arrive at your destination, say hello to Master Sumalee from me. I'm sure she'll give you a warm welcome."

Darmas actually laughed at that. "You're a treasure, sweetheart." Despite the flippant tone, the appreciation in his voice sounded genuine. "You really are."

But Mhyra was not going to fall for it. Not again. "I have both my blasters with me. So call me 'sweetheart' one more time and you'll never play sabacc again."

"Which kind?" he asked, and when he smirked, she wanted to slap him.

"I'll leave you to your guessing."

. . .

She had not been present when they had frozen him back into the carbonite again, but Alilia told her that he had not even struggled, had not attempted to run away. Well, probably because Ivory was pointing a blaster at him. Or maybe because – no matter how much he kept trying to convince the world otherwise – he was just as tired as she was. Maybe.

There was no sign of fear on his frozen face, nothing but calmness. And there was a slightest hint of a smile on his lips. As if, having had the choices taken from him, he was at peace. And maybe he was, Mhyra thought. By the stars, she would prefer someone else made some of the choices she had to make, too.

For a few moments, she stared at his face. She knew she should hate him... But she did not. Could not. Well, there were moments that she wanted to scratch his eyes out, just a little.

At least he had not sold her out, had not betrayed her for money. She could appreciate it, on some level, and understand it on another – if she was given a choice between him and freedom, she would choose freedom, in a heartbeat.

In a way, he reminded her of Corso – both ready to give up everything, or almost everything, for their ideals. Or rather for the image of those ideals that they had built in their thoughts, but weren't those two one and the same?

The comparison made her laugh. Corso would have been so offended at the idea, especially after Corellia. But Darmas... Darmas might have actually laughed at it.

She looked at his face, at the shadow of a smile on his lips. Then, because there was no one else in the room, she took a step closer and briefly touched his cold cheek.

Maybe giving him over to the Jedi could rectify her past mistake. Back then, she had not been able to do that, it was either letting him go – letting him buy his freedom – or killing him there and then. But she was past that now. He still had information that the Jedi might find valuable... And she was going to find out how valuable, exactly.

She switched the comm on. "Cargo ready for shipment."

There was a roar of confirmation on the other side. Bowdaar was going to see to the safety of the peculiar delivery.

"And, Bowdaar? Make sure Sumalee pays for all the information."

The Wookie's voice raised a little, in question.

"Ah, I don't know if he has any useful info. Or whether he'll be willing to share. But Sumalee doesn't know that either, does she? So let's make the most of it."

It was impossible to cheat a Jedi, but she felt entitled to try and get as much money as she could from them. If the blasted Jedi had guarded the Republic a little better and had actually known what had been going on in the Senate, none of that mess would have happened.

Mhyra rubbed her hands together. But she couldn't shake off the feeling that her fingertips still felt cold from touching the carbonite.

She shook her head. And to think that she used to think of them as partners... She remembered that night clearly – because calling him her partner had been a big deal for her. They had talked, and he had apologised to her back then – for something trifle, or so it had seemed at the time. Now Mhyra finally knew what he had been sorry for.

* * *

The morning was pleasant – a warm bed, a fluffy pillow under her head, and... Mhyra blinked, rubbed at her eyes, then turned. Darmas was not beside her. There was just a faint noise of flowing water from the refresher.

Mhyra stretched and lied back, not too eager to leave the comfortable bed so soon. After Belsavis, she needed some comfort – and blast, she had worked hard for it, had she not? So she deserved it.

The sound of the water stopped, and after a minute or two Darmas entered the room, already almost clothed, and just pulling a deep-blue tunic over his head. Mhyra smiled, watching him.

"Off with it," she said, waving her hand at the tunic. Then she patted the bed. "And come back here."

Darmas smiled at her. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart." For a moment he hesitated, then he dropped the tunic to the floor, walked over and slipped into bed beside Mhyra, immediately leaning over to kiss her. "You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

"You want to get rid of me already?" she asked mischievously.

He shook his head. "Perish the thought." His hand moved along her cheek so gently it almost seemed to be tenderness.

"First pensive, now sentimental." Mhyra rolled her eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with Darmas Pollaran?"

Instead of laughing, as she had expected he would, Darmas froze for a moment. She felt the muscles in his arm tense under her hand. "You're not going to leave because of one day of my ill humour, are you, sweetheart?" he asked eventually, relaxing a little.

There was something in his eyes that Mhyra could not quite decipher. For a moment, it seemed like... fear. But why should he be afraid? Did their affair mean that much to him?

Now it was her turn to tense. Darmas said nothing more, just kept looking at her, waiting for an answer.

Then she relaxed. What was there to fear? It was Darmas, not Corso. Darmas was not the type of man to fall in love, just as she was not the type of woman to do that. For a moment, she wondered if she would miss him if they parted, and she decided that yes, probably she would. They were good partners, in business and out of it. In time, they could be friends. And, most importantly, their relationship was easy, comfortable – a moment's rest from the excitement and madness of the world. It was also lots of laughter. Yes, if they parted, she would definitely miss the laughter.

Mhyra reached up, finding purchase on his shoulders, and kissed him on the lips. Just a short, simple kiss, not exactly tender, but warm. When the kiss was over, she looked up at Darmas.

"I don't think so," she answered at last, knitting her brows together and pursing her lips, pretending that she was thinking the matter over. "No, I'm not leaving." She smirked. "Any arguments you might want to use to make me stay?"

He looked at her, his eyes unreadable again, but it seemed that the fear gave way to something else... Not love, not yet, not ever, but for the first time Mhyra felt that there was a connection going deeper than just simple attraction and having fun together.

She playfully ruffled his hair. "I like you, too, idiot."

Darmas kissed her, deeply, passionately – almost, almost ardently – and she pulled him closer. A breath, and he kissed her again, then again... It felt a bit strange when he was silent, instead of showering her with foolish, amusing compliments between kisses. So strange that Mhyra decided to say something. Anything, really, just to break the silence, because it was making the whole thing feel much too serious.

"The pants have to go, too, you know," she murmured, reaching down.

He caught her hand. "All in good time, sweetheart." Smiling, he brought her hand up and playfully kissed her palm, then leaned to kiss her on the lips again. And again. And again. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

Mhyra pulled away, a little taken aback. "For what?"

"I gave you a scare, didn't I?"

"Ah, that." She laughed. "Just don't start picking children's names or anything."

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart."

"So, as it seems we've explained everything, stop talking and kiss me. And off with the pants."

. . .

"If that's how you're going to say goodbye to me every time I have to leave, I'm going to leave you more often," Mhyra said, stretching lazily.

Darmas smirked. "That wasn't a goodbye, sweetheart, just an argument to make you stay." He caught a longer strand of her hand and twirled it around his finger.

"I really should be leaving for Voss... But I guess one day won't hurt anyone." She made a face. "Well, and if anything happened, I wouldn't miss senator Dodonna all that much."

He laughed. "That's not very charitable of you, dear."

Mhyra arched her eyebrows. "Would you miss her?"

"Why should I?" He seemed truly baffled by the question. "Ah, you must've heard the rumours..."

"Some, yes." She smiled. "Rumours don't bother me. I give you and your good taste more credit than that."

Darmas laughed again. "Now, now, sweetheart... Jealousy doesn't suit you."

She shrugged. "I don't like to share."

"Fortunately, I do have better taste than that." He touched her cheek. "Besides, who would ever want to look at another woman after seeing you?"

"Flatterer."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"Come on, that's who you are. A flatterer and a terrible flirt."

"Says who, mhm?"

She ran her hand up his chest and neck, to his face. "All right. I'll stay until tomorrow."

Darmas just kissed her in reply. She let him, and then gently pushed him away.

"I really like all the attention, but I'm starving. So, breakfast?" she asked.

"Breakfast it is." He reached to the floor for his bathrobe, then got out of the bed. "I'll order something." Gallantly, he offered Mhyra a hand to help her get up. "And then what?"

"With all the profits from Balmorra, we could talk business." She found his tunic and slipped it on. "Think of some future investments..."

"My, my, is that 'we' already?"

Mhyra looked at him defiantly. "Isn't it? I thought we're business partners."

"I guess." He smiled at her, then put his hands on her waist. "Mhm, yes, I think we are." He pulled her close, until their foreheads almost touched. "Those future investments you mentioned have suddenly become an extremely appealing prospect."

"Well, put some clothes on, go get me a nice breakfast and a stimcaf, and we can talk about appealing prospects later..." Mhyra grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Partner."


	6. Chapter 6

VI

This time, his descent to the metal floor was much more gentle. He felt the tendrils of the Force wrapping around him for a while, softening the fall, and cursed inwardly. Blasted Jedi. His sight was temporarily impaired, and all he could see were blurry light and dark spots, but he did not need his eyes to recognise Jedi. Lots of said Jedi, too. He cursed again. Coruscant or Tython, then. He could not decide which option was worse.

On Dromuns Kaas, there had been many Sith around, and he remembered how it had felt – a constant pressure on his mind, like a presence, always inquisitive, always watchful. With the Jedi, it was similar, but a little different – there was more curiosity, and it was not half as intimidating as the Sith. It felt like being watched by a fascinated child. And that was what prompted him the answer. Tython. He was on Tython. With hordes of blasted Jedi padawans everywhere.

It gave him some opportunities, too. Seducing a young Jedi – now that was an easy job if he ever knew one. Some of them practically asked for it, with their naiveté and enthusiastic belief that there was good in everyone... Really, it would be a pity not to exploit that. And there was always the joy of corrupting the innocent, though that was something that had lost its appeal to him years ago.

Escaping would not be easy, but he could do it... if he wanted to. It felt strange to realise that he had no place to go. The Empire wanted him dead. Mhyra did not want him, either. Ridiculous as it was, it seemed that the blasted Jedi temple was the safest place for him... for the time being.

"I see you know where you are," said a familiar female voice.

Darmas smiled, making sure that she would notice how insincere it was. "Master Sumalee, what a pleasant surprise."

"Still acting..." The Jedi sounded almost amused. "And still flawless at it. I must admit that you really are something."

"Aren't we all?" he retorted.

"Oh, stop the act already. I won't fall for it. No one here will."

You would be surprised, he thought, but he did not say that aloud. Still, she could probably see it in his face. There was no point in hiding what he could do – because she probably already knew it.

"And still so confident. Good." There was a rustle of robes as she approached him and then she caught him by the shoulders and hauled him up. "But first, sleeping princess, you're off to the medlab. We need your sight."

Darmas smirked. "I'm pretty sure it's my insight that you want."

Sumalee laughed. "I knew you could be fun, if you put some effort into in." When she spoke again, her voice was serious and matter-of-factly. "Yes, it's about your insight. Insight, data, you know the drill. If you wanted to join our intelligence, it would be a bonus, but I'm not naive enough to believe that could ever happen."

"And here I thought the Jedi were beyond any hope..."

"Ah, we all make mistakes, don't we?"

Someday, he thought, you will make a mistake, too, Jedi. And that was something he would like to witness.

. . .

He spent most of the time in his cell. It was no real cell, just a room – a bed, a locker, a desk and a chair, a data processing station – cut off from the Temple computers, he was certain. And it was comfortable enough, too – despite all the years living in wealth, he needed no luxuries. But for him, it was still a cell. It did not even matter that he could walk the Temple freely, that he could even walk outside if he wanted – because the blasted Jedi were everywhere, and their constant presence was tiring. And, despite the relative freedom, he could not escape, not with all those Jedi around. They did not have to close him in a cell – because he was watched all the time.

So Darmas rarely ventured outside the room. He did his usual exercises, trying to keep his mind and body in shape, but the inactivity was slowly getting on his nerves.

So, when Sumalee finally decided to pay him another visit, he was almost relieved that he would have someone to talk to. He noted that, of course, and kept himself in check, not wishing to betray too much.

They were having one of those talks again. Darmas hated conversations with Sumalee – well, the real problem was with the Jedi as such, not the talking itself. He no longer had any qualms about giving away his knowledge about the Empire. Revenge, even by such means, was sweet enough. But revenge was one thing, but losing the advantage was quite another, and he was not going to let that happen.

This time Sumalee asked about his last mission, so now he was recounting the details of his covert assignment in the underworld, from the very beginning. He was not certain what the point of that talk was, but he had some ideas.

Sumalee was watching him closely, eyes narrowed, her face a picture of concentration. Suddenly, she smiled, a corner of her lips crooking up in a half-mocking, half-amused grimace.

"You admired them," she said, not even very surprised by it. "You admired them for their freedom. Because that's what you wanted, too, wasn't it? You chose working in cantinas, among scoundrels. You had your objectives, but no one told you how to accomplish them, and you liked that independence."

He shrugged. "And what is it to you?"

"To me? Nothing. But should you meet with Captain Galen again, you might want to tell her that."

It was Darmas's turn to smile, albeit bitterly. "And what makes you think she'd be willing to listen?"

"I've seen the security cameras footage. So either you really didn't want to kill her, or you're one clumsy agent." The Jedi smiled. "Take your pick."

"A Jedi born among and raised scoundrels is something that shouldn't have happened. You've got too much street smarts for your own good."

"Why, thank you for the compliment."

"What do you really want, Master Sumalee? Information? You're getting it. More information? You could have put me behind bars and still gotten that. So, what is it that you want?"

The Jedi shrugged. "Captain Galen let you go free. I just thought I'd honour her decision."

"And that's why you're keeping me prisoner here?" he asked.

"Not for long." That infuriating smile again. "I have work for you. There are some ancient artifacts that we'd like to recover. And we could use someone with your... talents."

"A simple treasure hunt?"

"Precisely." The Jedi nodded.

Darmas narrowed his eyes. "Where's the catch?"

"So distrustful." Sumalee shook her head, smiling, evidently amused. "It's just what I said it is. You'll join a team, of course. Some adventurers, two Jedi for protection, the usual stuff. Oh, and a smuggler to get you onto the planet and then off it."

There is was, then – the catch. Darmas gritted his teeth. "Don't."

"Or?" She smiled sweetly. "You see, Jedi don't kill unless they have to. And we don't believe in revenge. But sometimes just letting people live with the consequences of their choices is a much better lesson."

"She's already had her lesson." He could not let that happen. Mhyra already hated him; that would only make matters worse. That, and meeting him again certainly would not be pleasant for her. And neither would it be so for him.

"And she learned nothing." The Jedi shrugged again. "Fortunately, there were no serious consequences, because we had other resources. But we could have taken some heavy casualties because of what she did. We could have lost important battles. We could have lost an entire planet because of one woman's decision."

"Isn't it usually like that?" asked Darmas, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "In the end, it's always one person's decision."

"Fair point," Sumalee agreed. "But what she did is not something that we can just forget."

"And I thought the Jedi were all about mercy and forgiveness," he commented dryly.

"Forgiveness? Oh, sure, I forgave her. Mercy? We didn't punish her, and neither did we punish you. But foolishness? We're not as stupid as some people give us credit for."

Darmas shook his head. "She handed me over to you, and I gave you all the information you wanted. I can give you more, and you know it, so blast it, why don't you..."

Master Sumalee watched him closely. "You really care about her, don't you? Isn't that a joke?"

"Come on, then." He spread his arms in an inviting gesture. "Laugh."

"I don't find it funny." She shook her head. "There's nothing funny in seeing something that might have been good come to dust."

. . .

She was walking by his cell again. He sensed her before he saw her – a gentle, curious touch to his mind, like a child shyly peeking into a closed room through a window. One of those young, naive ones. He had been watching her for some time now, carefully making mental notes. And it was high time he made some use of his observations.

Darmas was tired of waiting. That, and he did not want Mhyra to have to work with him. And if he managed to escape before Sumalee gathered the team, that problem would disappear. There was only one tiny details – to escape a place full of Jedi, he needed a Jedi on his side.

He was really not in the mood for seducing naive girls... Not in the mood for seducing anyone, in fact, not while he still thought so much of Mhyra. But if that was to be his way to freedom, he was going to do it.

"What do you find so interesting here, girl?" he asked in a smooth, quiet voice, which usually worked wonders on women – he could tell from experience.

"You." The Twi'lek came closer, her moves fluid like a shadow. She had big, bright eyes, faint freckles, gentle features and a soft voice.

"I'm flattered." He almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. Usually it made women make some effort to see him smile for real.

"Not like that," she corrected softly, shaking her head.

His eyes bore into hers. "Really?" he asked quietly, almost in a whisper. That was not a gamble, not even an educated guess, just facts, statistics and probability. It was no wonder that with the Jedi code forbidding everything, the older padawans, those at the verge of knighthood, were curious about relationships. And about all aspects, too. And what better fantasy for an aspiring galaxy saviour than a servant of the Empire whom she could turn to the light? He had laughed at that so much in his life that he no longer found it funny, just pathetic.

There was a hint of purple on the padawan's blue cheeks – she was blushing a little. "That, too," she admitted reluctantly. "But, contrary to what it may seem, I'm not that naive."

He faked a convincing, amused laugh. "Honest and witty. That's a rare combination."

"Not so rare, from where I come from." The blush was gone from her face, and she seemed more confident now. "It must be sad."

"What?"

"Watching the world from your perspective," she answered.

She was the kind of Jedi he hated the most: kind, soft-spoken, and so sweet that just speaking to them was enough to make one's teeth hurt. But she had some sense of humour, at least, and she did not fall for his trick.

Darmas laughed, this time genuinely. He would never get on well with someone like her, but he had to admit she was amusing. "Point for you, girl." Now that he knew seduction would not work, he could just simply, straightforwardly talk to her. Many younger Jedi had a foolish, convenient habit of answering honest questions. "Since it seems we've established that you're not interested in me in that way... What do you want from me, then?"

"I just wanted to watch," she explained, just as he expected. "An exercise from my master."

"The point of it being...?" he prompted.

"Oh, we're to be your bodyguards during that expedition master Sumalee is sending you on. Well, if my master agrees to that."

"And you're here to check what kind of man I am, aren't you?"

She was watching him thoughtfully. "You know a lot about the Jedi."

"I know a lot about many things. The Jedi, the Sith." He paused. "About things your Jedi codes forbids," he added with a wink, though the only purpose of that was to fluster her.

Surprisingly, it did not work. "Wouldn't she mind?" she asked softly.

"Who?"

"The woman on your mind? The one you're afraid of hurting?" she asked. There was compassion in her eyes, and Darmas hated her for it.

Compassion was something that he did not need. All decisions had consequences, and that was life. And the only way to live it was to face the consequences. Compassion was not necessary.

"Get out of my head, girlie." There was a threat hidden in his quiet voice.

"I'm not..." she broke off and shook her head vigorously. "I don't need to dig into your thoughts. You see, there are different Force talents." Her tone changed; she was giving him a lecture now.

"Spare me history lesson. Everyone knows about Bastila Shan's supposed battle meditation skills."

"Not supposed," she corrected, not offended. "Anyway, I have a little talent of my own. I can pick up strong feelings. A blessing or a curse, depends on how you look at it."

"Well, give my regards to your master." His lips crooked into a mocking smile. "You're not quite as you seem. And that, little Jedi, was a compliment."

"And you're not half as anything we thought as you seemed." She smiled. "Although you have to decide for yourself whether that was a compliment or a complaint."

. . .

This time, there were footsteps first, and only then he felt a presence. Very different from that annoying padawan, too. It felt just like the simple presence of another person near, only amplified a little.

"So you're that Imperial spy everyone's talking about." The Jedi came closer, watching him with interest, assessing. He was calm and confident, but there was a lively, almost mischievous gleam to his eyes.

"Astounding observation skills, Jedi," replied Darmas calmly. "Wasn't it your padawan that's been pestering me for the last few weeks?"

"Ah, yes. Ilmaya needed a good exercise." The Jedi smiled. "She's remarkable, isn't she?"

"If by remarkable you mean stereotypical world-saviour material, then yes, by all means."

He might have agreed to work with the Republic, but it did not make him like them more. And the Jedi... he disliked them for the same reason he disliked the Sith; they were just the opposite end of the same spectrum. He had nothing against manipulating people in general, but he firmly believed that is should take more than just waving a hand at someone. Doing it the traditional way seemed more honest – however ridiculous such an opinion might seem, especially if he was the one to voice it. But with the traditional methods, at some point everyone had to pay the price, and that seemed fair, unlike Force tricks.

"So..." The Jedi smiled briefly. "You and Captain Galen..."

Darmas rolled his eyes. "Don't you have more pressing matters, Jedi? Like rebuilding after the war?"

The Jedi regarded him thoughtfully.

"Remarkable," he said at last. "You project almost no emotion, even now."

"Nothing remarkable for someone who spent decades among the Sith. And it certainly wasn't my intention to impress you." He arched his eyebrows. He had already given away too much... But, by now, he was getting used to everyone asking about Mhyra, so it was easier to hide his feelings. Still, more difficult than ever... maybe because he had never felt so strongly about anyone or anything, not even the Empire. "Your padawan was able to pick something. Does it mean your connection to the Force is weaker?" he taunted.

"That means she has a talent I'm not gifted with," the Jedi replied, unruffled. "And isn't it the highest praise for the teacher if the student is better than the master?"

"From what little knowledge of the Force powers I posses, I gathered it's not possible to teach those things."

"No, indeed. But I can help her hone her talents with proper exercises. Apparently, it works, since she picked something up from you."

"Apparently," Darmas said curtly, hoping it was the end of the discussion, but not really counting on it.

"Why did you do it?" asked the Jedi thoughtfully after a short period of silence, looking into Darmas's eyes. "Corellia, everything that went before... Clearly, you don't like the Sith."

"And why does a Jedi stay among his brethren and adhere to the Code he doesn't entirely agree with?"

The Jedi smiled. "Many reasons. Ideals, for one. Excellent observation skills, by the way. I think I know why Sumalee chose you for that expedition."

"Why, wasn't that to teach me a lesson?" Darmas smiled wryly. "I'd hate to think I haven't made a lasting impression."

Surprisingly, the Jedi laughed. "I think I might volunteer for the trip, just to continue this discussion."

Darmas narrowed his eyes. "Enough word games. What do you want, Jedi?"

"To know you better. Is that a crime?"

"Captain Galen doesn't need all that protection you Jedi want to impose on her." Something was telling him that this, too, was about Mhyra, and during his long career as a spy he had learnt to trust his intuition. "She can take care of herself."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Maybe it's for your protection, not hers. Ever thought about it that way?"

"Please, stop being patronising." Darmas grimaced. "You needn't concern yourself with my safety." He shrugged. "If she wants to shoot me, she's welcome to do so."

For the first time since his arrival, the Jedi seemed serious. "You really care for her. Interesting."

Darmas sighed impatiently. "What's with you Jedi constantly sticking your noses into someone else's business?"

"Oh, Sumalee just likes to tease people."

"While you don't, of course."

"I've never said that. But you see, Mhyra saved me once. So I just wanted to know if I wouldn't have to return the favour."

It was Darmas's turn to watch the Jedi closely. There were a few more words he wanted to say, but he kept silent. He had made enough of a fool of himself already. But when the Jedi smiled again, Darmas wished he had a blaster to shoot that smile off the Jedi's face.

"Jealous?"

Darmas shrugged. "As if I had any rights to be. Really, Jedi, with so much interest in someone else's private life... Are you certain you shouldn't rewrite your Code a little?"

The Jedi laughed. Amiably and without malice, which was all the more irritating. "Well, you really are something."

"I hear that a lot lately."

"Name's Dirkh Irlan, by the way. Dirkh for friends, Master Irlan, if you prefer to be more official."

"I suppose you know my name, Jedi."

"'Jedi' will also do. Yes, I know your current alias."

"Name," corrected Darmas.

"Grown out of the old one?" the Jedi asked, with genuine curiosity.

"That's an answer I would only give to a friend, Master Irlan. Good day to you."

When the Jedi left, Darmas let himself get lost deep in thoughts. That whole blasted expedition was a terrible idea. And he definitely did not want to meet Mhyra now, after she had let him know that she did not want to see him again. Was he afraid of hurting her, as the foolish padawan had suggested? He laughed bitterly. Could he really hurt her more than he already had? He had used her, had betrayed her trust. Oh, yes, he had done such things many times before. But with her, he had regretted his lies for the first time in his life. He still regretted them. Maybe more than ever, because now he knew what he had lost, and could blame no one but himself for it.

* * *

A business partner, that was what she called him. And then, with her arms around his neck, she simply called him a partner. And then she grinned and kissed him.

Darmas kissed her back, trying not to think. But it was as if something cracked deep inside him. Because they could be just that. Partners. They got on so well together...

He pushed that thoughts aside, got a grip on himself, flashed Mhyra a smile and ventured to find them some breakfast. And to leave her company, because, right now, he was not certain if he would not slip and do something that would blow his cover.

In other circumstances, they could... He laughed, with bitter amusement. Ah, you old sentimental fool, he thought mockingly. He had always thought himself immune to all kinds of romantic feelings. And now it was turning out that he wasn't.

The Force, he thought, had a peculiar sense of humour. A mission that he had been carefully crafting for years, and it was becoming a real danger that all could fail just because he grew fond of a woman. Now, wasn't it just grand?

And then, on a whim – and probably out of common sense, too – he decided to forget it all just for one day. If he could deceive her, why could he not try to deceive himself, just for a while? He could pretend there was no Empire, no mission, no other life, that he was just who he seemed to be, and that everything was fine. She deserved that much, at least, one more day of laughter. One day of fun, that was what he could offer her. And, dreading what he would have to in the future, he decided that he was going to give her that.

They ate breakfast, sprawled comfortably on the bed. Mhyra kept stealing food from his plate, and at one point he sighed and just started feeding her, which ended with lots of laughter and lots of crumbs on the sheets.

Then she went to take a shower, and he made stimcaf, and when she returned, they sat down at his desk to talk business. The incomes, the expenses, the possibilities of future investments. Somehow, without ever talking about it, she took it for granted that there would be a future. And he knew why, because he had seen it coming, and had done nothing to discourage her. And now, talking business with Mhyra seated in his lap, with her arm around his neck, he really wished they could have a future, he wished that they could have time to see what their relationship could turn into.

"Is that what you really want, sweetheart? Doing business with me?" he asked, glancing up at her, a hint of a smile on his lips. But he was afraid he could do nothing about the serious look in his yes.

Mhyra pulled away, eyebrows arched. "Don't you?" she asked, confident, knowing what answer she was about to hear.

"You know I do." He nuzzled her cheek. "Partner," he added, in a low voice. And then he kissed her, so that he would not have to look into her eyes, and so that she would not see too much in his.

When the kiss ended, Mhyra laughed. "If we keep this up, we'll never leave this cabin. And you promised me a tour of the station, a game of sabacc, and I'm talking cards here, and..."

"Oh, you know, the old-fashioned stuff. Wine, music, dancing..."

She tilted his head up slightly, fingers gently hooked under his chin. "Well, well. Is that a date?"

"It's whatever you want it to be, sweetheart." He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "I just thought you might enjoy it."

She grinned. "Oh, I'm sure I will."

. . .

The evening found them in the cantina, sipping the most expensive wine he had managed to procure. They were sitting close, but not embracing; still, that was enough for the Drayen girl to roll her eyes at them each time she glanced their way.

"I could get used to this," Mhyra muttered, smiling lazily.

He smiled back at her. "This?"

"Coming back here now and then." Her smile was a challenge.

"Ah, I could get used to this, too." Darmas leaned closer. "You look lovely tonight, sweetheart," he whispered. And she did look lovely, in her sunset-coloured dress, with her eyes bright with joy.

"Oh, hoping your compliments will sway me?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.

"Hoping my compliments will lure you into my bed," he answered with a smug smile, looking into her eyes.

Mhyra laughed quietly. "Strange, but it seems they work every single time." Her eyes gleamed. "You know, I have a few ideas for the rest of the evening... Let's go to your cabin and I will show you."

As soon as they got to his cabin and the door closed behind them, he kissed her, and she wound her arms around his neck. And then he picked her up and carried her to the bed, not caring how cheesy or foolishly romantic it might be. He talked a lot that night, telling her all the nice things he could come up with, trying to make her laugh as much as he could. Trying to make her happy.

But it did not help. If anything, he felt even more guilty about lying to her.

. . .

It was very early when something woke him – so early that it took his mind a moment to clear enough to function properly. And then he noticed that what had woken him was Mhyra's absence.

"Go back to sleep," she murmured, and he felt the mattress dip as she perched on the bed. She leaned over him and kissed his cheek lightly. "I just hate goodbyes, you know that."

He turned towards her, cupper her face in his hands and kissed her, slowly, thoroughly. "Take care, sweetheart."

She rested her hands on his chest for balance. "Ah, worried about me?" she asked playfully, smiling down at him.

"And if I said yes?" He kissed her again. "Alright, run off, sweetheart. Or you won't be leaving for some time yet."

Mhyra laughed, then ruffled his hair in an affectionate gesture. "You take care, too, old rascal."

He grimaced. "Really, not that old..."

"Just teasing. You should see you face when I do it." She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Now go back to sleep, so I can sneak out unnoticed."

He put a hand over his eyes. "I solemnly swear I saw nothing. I just woke up and you weren't here..."

There was a faint hiss of the door, and when he opened his eyes, she was gone. Darmas sat up, knowing that sleep would not find him again until the evening. He looked at the empty space beside him, at the outlines of Mhyra's body imprinted on the sheets, and smiled wistfully. He hated goodbyes, too, and he had just said goodbye to the woman whom he cared about. Whom he cared about much more than he should.


	7. Chapter 7

VII

The holo beeped again. Mhyra sighed and glanced at the caller's ID for the second time, hoping that maybe she had read it wrong. Cursed under her breath. Then decided to answer the blasted holo.

"Master Sumalee." She forced her lips into a smile, careful to make its insincerity show. "How can I help... Oh, wait. I thought I handed my resignation months ago?" She was tired of being used, in any way, and done with playing the Republic lap dog. The only person she was ever going to work for was herself.

"I'm sure a proper amount of credits could persuade you, Captain." The Jedi didn't seem perturbed by the mockery in the least. "Thank you for the, ah, delivery. It proved very useful."

Mhyra wanted to groan. She cursed instead. Viciously. In Huttese. "Don't."

"Funny thing, that's exactly what Pollaran said when I mentioned you in one of our talks."

"Really, Master Jedi," Mhyra carefully applied a generous amount of sarcasm to Sumalee's title, "credits were enough of a thank you. So if you only called to talk about Darmas Pollaran, this holocall is over."

"So impatient." Sumalee smiled, and Mhyra hated that it seemed a little patronising. "I have a job offer, Captain. And let me tell you, a proper amount of credits will certainly be involved."

"Involved in what?" Mhyra asked curtly. After the mention of Darmas, she was in no mood for courtesies.

"There's an old Jedi artifact we want to recover from Ilum."

"Don't you have a temple full of Jedi on Tython?" Risha asked from the threshold, walking into the room. "I bet some of them would gladly go adventuring."

"Good to hear you, too, Risha." Sumalee had a particular talent of annoying people with the politeness of her voice. "Yes, we do. But there are reasons we don't want them involved. We're not the only ones looking for that artifact."

"Care to tell me at least what we'd be looking for?"

"A holocron of the so called Exile. If that tells you anything."

Mhyra shrugged. "Well, I know what a holocron is. Fine, but what's in it for me?"

"And here I hoped we'd make a patriot of you, Captain." Sumalee sighed, a bit theatrically. "As you know, there are crystal caves on Ilum. Those crystals are commonly used by Jedi for building lightsabers... but last I checked, they were quite valuable on the right market."

"I'll think about it." Mhyra nodded slowly, glancing sideways at Risha. How valuable, her eyes asked. If something could be sold on the black market, there was good chance that Risha knew the prices.

Risha raised a hand, showing five fingers. Five zeroes, then. Well, than was a nice price. "For one," Risha mouthed, barely audibly. Well, now that definitely was a nice price.

"All right, I'm game." Mhyra looked up at Sumalee and arched her eyebrows. "Now, where's the catch?"

"Everyone's so distrustful there days, really..." Sumalee shook her head. "No catch. You get two Jedi as bodyguards, and to handle the artifact. If more Jedi will be needed, call me and we'll try to send some backup. You'll get a few Republic troops for protection, too, Chancellor Saresh was very adamant about it, since it's highly probable we'll find some tech from the previous war. Oh, and I'll give you an agent who'll deal with slicing, codes and so on. Other than that, you can take whatever crew you want. You'll get the details once we meet on Tython."

Mhyra nodded. "Fair enough. But you still haven't explained why do you even need me? I mean, as Risha said, you have a Temple full of Jedi, and I bet some of them would gladly go..."

"Ilum's at war, Captain. And we don't want the Sith to go after what we're looking for. So your job is to get our Jedi to Ilum and recover the artifact, while pretending you're there just on some smuggling business of yours."

"You know, it's more polite to call it simply business," Mhyra corrected.

"I thought you prefer directness over politeness, Captain. I'll remember it, though."

"By the way, if we're talking war zones and secrecy, I'm charging extra for that."

"You get a standard Republic privateer's pay, and, of course," Sumalee's look was disapproving, but Mhyra didn't even blink, "a reasonable hazard premium and a discretion fee. And we turn a blind eye on any crystal that might, ah, get lost in your cargo hold by some accident."

"One more thing. It's my ship, so I do the mission my way. And while we're out there, I'm the one giving orders," Mhyra pointed a finger at Sumalee, "not you, not your Jedi. Jedi have an awful habit of getting people who help them neck-deep in mynock droppings."

"Bantha, not mynock," Risha mouthed.

"I'm afraid you'll find that particular Jedi Master a bit difficult to order around... Well, but I have no doubt that you'll try. So, good luck with that, and see you soon on Tython. Sumalee out." The holo flicked, and then the Jedi Master's image disappeared.

"Alright." Mhyra leaned against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know her better than I do. What's the catch? Because I've seen too much to believe she'd need professionals like us for such a simple mission."

Risha smiled. "Maybe she wants to test her Jedi friend's patience." The smile was gone quickly, and Risha knitted her eyebrows together, her face thoughtful. "Seriously, though, I have no idea what she's up to. Unless... But no, she wouldn't. Even she wouldn't do that..."

Mhyra's eyes narrowed. "Do what?" she asked curtly.

"Well, she mentioned Pollaran at the beginning of the talk, so..."

"Oh, no, no way. No blasted way. Over my dead body."

"Hers, you wanted to say?" Risha corrected, a corner of her lips crooking up. "Or his? by the way, I didn't meant she'd let him go with us. Just that she might want you to confront him again."

"Well, then..." Mhyra forced herself to smile; it was a wide, mocking grin. "Over someone's dead body."

. . .

Tython was a nice planet, with its lush forests and all the streams and waterfalls, and the Temple itself was kind of impressive... But the presence of all the Jedi made Mhyra uncomfortable. There were all kinds of tales told of the Jedi – some claimed that they could read mind, some – that they could sense feelings... Whatever the truth, there was too much Mhyra wanted to remain hidden from anyone. Knowing that Darmas was somewhere on Tython, too, didn't help things either.

Risha just kept scowling at her, but, fortunately, she said nothing. And Mhyra was grateful for that, she really was. It was just... She was too restless and anxious to express it properly. She wanted to get the mission details, and then to leave Tython in her ship's rear thrusters, and do it as soon as possible.

But it seemed that Sumalee had plenty of time. They were waiting for the Republic troops that were to accompany them. And the Jedi Knights assigned to their mission were currently in some village on Tython, helping the inhabitants. Of course, Sumalee assured it would not take long. Mhyra knew from experience that usually meant the opposite.

For most of the time, she remained on the _Wheel of Fortune_ , playing dejarik with Risha or chatting business with her accomplices on triply-encoded frequencies. From time to time, she also went outside, to shoot a little on the Temple's training grounds, but it made her uncomfortable. She felt... watched. And she really didn't like that, because she had some idea who might be watching her.

And then, when her patience finally ended, she demanded a talk with Sumalee.

"All right, I'm done waiting." She announced as soon as the door to the Jedi's chamber opened. "So either you tell your soldiers and Jedi team to hurry, or I leave without them, and I'm not going to Ilum, then."

Sumalee just smiled. "Our troops are already on their way. As for the Jedi, they should be back in the evening."

"Didn't you forget someone?" Mhyra reminded.

There was something in the Jedi's smile that Mhyra didn't like, at all. "I was just waiting for you to ask. Yes, our agent. He's already here, so you can meet him if you wish." The blasted Jedi was clearly amused, for some reason, and Mhyra really didn't like what her intuition was telling her. "Though I believe introductions will be unnecessary."

Mhyra gritted her teeth together. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"Wasn't it?" Sumalee's voice was perfectly calm and polite. "Your crew, your rules, my team, those were the terms, I believe. If you want to talk to him, you'll find him somewhere around the Temple," she called after Mhyra.

But Mhyra wasn't listening. Blasted, thrice blasted Jedi! Right now, Mhyra was beyond logical thinking, or any thinking, really. She just wanted to shoot something. With a sigh, she went out into the training grounds. With some luck, maybe she could at least blast one the Jedi's training droids apart.

. . .

After a long session of shooting, she felt calmer. Calm enough to get a grip on herself, go into the Temple and find Darmas. And try to talk to him. If they were to go on one mission together – and on one ship – she could as well see right away if she was able to stand his company.

She found him in a small, simply-furnished room on the Temple's upper floor. Darmas was standing at the window, leaning against the wall, looking over the training grounds. Ah, so her guess had been right.

He seemed thoughtful, and looked more serious than she remembered. There was still an air of confidence about him, but he didn't look as defiant as he used to. So either he was just that good an actor, or he really was different. And he seemed... bitter? Mhyra scowled inwardly, not eager to find they had anything in common. A Jedi could tell that wars made everyone bitter, in the end, but she was not a Jedi.

Hearing her footsteps, he turned, and something flashed in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but she could see he was surprised to see her here, in his room. She knew him that much, at least.

Well, to think of it, she was given another occasion to show him what people got for deceiving and using her. At first she had thought a bullet to the head would be best, then – that forcing him to constantly fear for his life and making his existence a misery would be better. And then she had thought she could let it go... But now, seeing him like that, she knew there was something better. Humiliation.

"Of all my fantasies of you, shackled as a Republic captive was never my favourite," she said, almost in the exact words he had once said to her. Then she let a small smile appear on her lips. "But now I see that I might have to reconsider."

A corner of Darmas' lips lifted in a crooked smile. "It's somewhat comforting to know that you still dream of me, sweetheart." He paused. "Ah, but what a poor host I am..." He made an inviting gesture. "Please, come in," he added, moving a chair from the desk more to the centre of the room, so that she could sit. There was that unfamiliar gracefulness to his moves again – he really reminded her of a nexu. Caged, for now, but no less dangerous.

But Mhyra was not afraid. She had bested him once, so she could do it again. Besides, however ridiculous it was, it seemed that he meant her no harm. Because if he had really wanted to, he had had plenty of occasions to do that.

"Sumalee advised that I should talk to you, considering that we'll have to work together soon," she said, then lightly put her hand on one of her blasters. "I wonder how she would like to hear I'd rather shoot you instead." Declining his invitation, she leaned against the wall near the door. "And in case you wondered: yes, that was one of my favourite fantasies."

The bastard was still smiling. "But you wouldn't do that, sweetheart, would you?" His voice and expression were a bit different than she remembered – with the difference too small to pinpoint it – but still, it was altogether too familiar: the confidence, the slight amusement, and, worst of all, understanding. "Too quick and not painful enough?"

"Not satisfactory enough. But..." She allowed herself a lazy smile. "Ilum is a dangerous world. Accidents can happen."

He gave her a long look, but she could not read his eyes. "No, you wouldn't do that," he said quietly. "Not now. Earlier, in the heat of the moment, yes, but not now. You're not a cold-blooded killer, sweetheart." Another crooked smile. "Besides, I'm not that much of a fool to give you a pretext to shoot me."

"I can't believe my own ears. You admit to being a fool at all?"

For a moment, he actually smiled, not one of those controlled grimaces, but a true smile... Honest, if that word could be used to describe him at all. "You'd be surprised."

"It's that funny?"

"I guess it is, when it happens to someone else." Another smile, this time his old one, the smile of a charming scoundrel. "The expedition wasn't my idea, but if I knew getting arrested by the Republic would be all it took to see you again, sweetheart, I'd have arranged it sooner."

All of a sudden, Mhyra felt very tired. He was still acting, just like he had been on Corellia, thinking that... what, that it would be easier that way? That she would be more inclined to forgive him? To tolerate his presence, at least? Or maybe he was just teasing, trying to annoy her?

She gritted her teeth. "Drop the act. It's not working, not any longer." She shook her head. "I'm tired of your games." Then she looked into his eyes. "No more masks. If we are to talk, to work together, I want to see your true face."

Strangely, his features softened, and his smile turned bitter. And he was more serious than she had ever seen him.

"You wouldn't, sweetheart," he said quietly, and something in his voice stopped her from berating him for calling her that. "You wouldn't." And then, with another smile, half-ironic, half-self-mocking, the mask was back in place. "I'd say 'believe me', but I understand that might be difficult under the circumstances."

"I'd rather say it's impossible. Under the circumstances," Mhyra added, then turned and left.

She really wanted to kick something. Or someone. Preferably Sumalee, for the very idea of that stupid expedition, and for thinking it would be a perfect opportunity to teach Mhyra a lesson. She sighed inwardly, knowing it wouldn't be wise to kick a Jedi.

. . .

She did mention to the Jedi Master what she thought of it all, though. But Sumalee did not seem irritated by her outburst, just mildly amused.

"You're having too much fun, you know?" Mhyra scowled. "Aren't there Jedi codes on it, or something?"

"I regret to inform you, Captain, that there are no Jedi codes on having fun," Sumalee answered in a most serious tone, but there was a merry sparkle to her eyes. "But we can talk about it later. Our Jedi have returned, and I think it's high time you met them."

"It's not like I have a choice, is it?" Mhyra asked sourly, following the Jedi to the next room.

Sumalee shrugged. "Well, Captain, you gave your word."

"But you never gave me full details. That counts as changing the terms of the deal after it's been..." She saw the two Jedi waiting for them and broke off. "I'll keep it civilisedor now, but we're not done with this talk," she warned.

Well, well, she was thinking, look who the nexu dragged in. The Jedi was familiar – looked a bit older now, true, and there were first threads of white in his dark hair – but his beard was still dark, the little braid at the side of his head took a few years off him, and the lively, almost mischievous spark in his eyes was just as she remembered.

"Captain, this is Master Dirkh Irlan, our head Jedi adventurer and something of a maverick... I guess you'll get on just fine. And this," she gestured towards a sweet-faced, blue Twi'lek girl, "is his padawan, Ilmaya Ma'ar."

Mhyra had no doubts that Sumalee intended the whole expedition as a lesson... But her luck was not legendary without a reason. To be assigned Dirkh Irlan, of all the Jedi... Dirkh, whom she had once helped escape from an Imperial prison. And if he was still such a good sport as he used to be... Well, then she was going to have fun on their little trip. She was also certain that Darmas was not going to like it – which only made things better. Sweet, poetic justice was not something one could ever grow out of, or at least she thought so.

"Pleasure to meet you, Master Irlan," she said with a constrained smile, trying not to give anything away and hoping that Sumalee will misread anything she could sense from her, and that Dirkh would play along.

"Captain." Dirkh smiled – like a scoundrel, too – and gave her a slight bow. And, fortunately, he did play along. "The pleasure is all mine. Dirkh Irlan, at your service." He had a deep, pleasant voice, that made half the things he said sound like flirting.

Sumalee rolled her eyes. "Really, Dirkh, you could at least wait until I left the room. And think of your padawan," she chided.

Dirkh just waved his hand dismissively. "Poor Ilmaya is used to my quirks by now."

The Twi'lek smiled at Mhyra shyly. "It's as honour meeting such an accomplished Republic hero, Captain."

Mhyra kept smiling, while inwardly she grimaced. It seemed Ilmaya was the worst kind of Jedi – sweet, patient goody-two-shoes. But then again, if she was Dirkh's padawan, she had to have some redeeming qualities. Or perhaps Dirkh had changed so much since their last meeting... though, judging by his behaviour so far, it seemed that was not the case.

"Sorry to interrupt, but your troopers are calling, Sumalee." Risha announced, then leaned against the door frame. "Sergeant Corso Riggs..." She sounded like she wanted to strangle her Jedi friend. "And if you tell me it's a coincidence, I think I'll shoot you," she warned.

Sumalee smiled kindly. "Ah, no, actually it isn't. I just remembered that he used to be in Captain Galen's crew and thought it'll make it easier for you to work together." She turned to Mhyra. "From what I gather, you don't like soldiers, Captain. Now, please, excuse me," she added, walking out of the room.

Mhyra gritted her teeth. "Right now, I really don't like Jedi."

Dirkh moved forward, with a calming smile. "I hope I'll be able to rectify that, Captain."

"You can try that later," Risha interrupted. "Mhyra, we need to talk." And seriously, the look in her eyes was saying.

. . .

Risha did not roll her eyes. She did not even sigh. She groaned. "That can only end in a major disaster, you know that."

"Oh, come on, won't be so bad," Mhyra answered, sounding much more confident than she felt. Truth to be told, she was starting to have a bad feeling about the blasted expedition... But then, she had never had bad feelings about Darmas, so maybe those were not as trust worthy as she'd like. "Guss is staying behind, that reduces the probability of a disaster considerably. And I can handle the boys..."

"Sure. Great job handling Pollaran so far."

"Hey!" Mhyra protested. What Risha said was true... but that didn't meant she could just open her mouth and say it so casually.

"Sorry." Risha sighed. "But really, Mhyra? Pollaran and Corso accompanying you on the same mission? And no to mention that Jedi you apparently have what one could call a history with?" She shook her head. "I'm coming. And Bowdaar is coming, too. Amazing what a threat of a Wookie ripping off someone's arm can do to maintain order."

"Corso shouldn't be a problem." Or at least Mhyra hoped so. Really, the only thing she needed now was to have him back, with his stupid infatuation. "I've already told him how the things between us are. And nothing's changed since."

"Really?" Risha arched her eyebrows. "How about Pollaran being a Jedi prisoner, and you two no longer being... well, whatever you used to be. Corso may be simple, but he's not dumb. So I'd say a lot has changed since..."

"I'm still not interested. And the kid will have to get over it finally." Mhyra shook her head. "And hopefully before the mission turns into a disaster."

Risha sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

"You said it once before, remember? Before Balmorra, when I agreed to became a Republic privateer." Mhyra sunk down into a chair. She was tired. And so far it seemed Risha's bad feelings, unlike her own, knew what they were doing.

"If only I have listened to my intuition..." Risha took out a bottle of wine, then put it back into the cabinet and chose a bottle of Chandrilan brandy instead. "Still, those were fun times."

"Fun times? You scowled every time you saw me and Darmas together."

"As I said." Risha smiled wryly, opening the bottle. "Fun times."

Mhyra just reached out for a glass of brandy, saying nothing. The thing was, those had been fun times. She missed the fun, and the laughter. She really missed all the laughter.

* * *

She had hated Alderaan while she'd been there – well, luxury and nice landscapes aside – but Balmorra made her almost miss Alderaan. After all the dirt, noise and blaster bolts, she longed for some comfort, peace and a bit of luxury. And there was one place in the galaxy where she could find at least two of those.

"Bowdaar, set the course for Port Nowhere," she announced, and Bowdaar roared a confirmation.

Risha smiled briefly. "As much as I don't trust that rascal, I have to admit Pollaran surely knows good wine when he sees it. And I'd love some good wine." She winkled her nose. "I don't know what's that beer they have on Balmorra, but it tasted like mud." She noticed Corso's grimace and smirked. "Ah, cheer up, Riggs, we all deserve some respite. Especially the captain."

Mhyra flashed a smile. "A game of sabacc would be nice, too."

Risha rolled her eyes, but in the end laughed. Corso just sighed in defeat.

. . .

Later, he tried to talk to her, again. Mhyra had to admit the kid really didn't give up or lose hope easily. Unfortunately for him, she still wasn't interested.

"I'd do worse thing than smuggling spice just to make you laugh..." he assured earnestly, referring to the little incident with his cousin.

"That's the point. You shouldn't." Mhyra smiled. She liked him, she really did; he was funny and chivalrous – which was funny, too – and a bit naive, endearingly so. Well, and annoyingly. He was also ready to do anything she'd ask to win her favour... Which was precisely what she did not want. Well, not quite like that. She had nothing against it, in general. But she did not want anyone to change for her, to do something against himself, because that would be a lie. And for a relationship that he wanted – whether she wanted anything of the kind was another matter altogether – honesty was a must. "You are good and kind and have your values, and that's great. That's a good thing." Blast it, she was no good in those kinds of talk. "That's how it should be. And you shouldn't change it because of a woman you fancy."

"Captain, really..."

"Corso, dear, trust me. That's what it is. A fancy. Just because I'm different."

"And strong, confident, beautiful..."

"And doing many things you don't approve of, for credits. And doing things you think should be done for no reward, for credits. See? I like you, but it will never work."

"Maybe..."

"You asked me once about family, settling down, those kinds of things. That wouldn't work for me, either." She shook her head, then smiled encouragingly. "You should find yourself a nice, sweet girl who you could save. Or a nice, strong girl who you could save the world with. Maybe one of those Jedi ladies. Not me."

"But we are saving the world."

Mhyra laughed merrily. "Because people pay me for it!"

"I just thought..."

She shook her head again. "That's your problem, see? You think too much on entirely wrong things."

"I don't get it, Captain. What's so special about him? What does he give you that..."

She tried not to laugh, she really did. For Corso, this was serious business. Important, too. But the fact that he had to ask those kinds of questions was just another proof they did not suit each other.

"You shouldn't be asking those questions, you know." She waggled a finger at him. "But, since it's the first and the last time," she accentuated the word 'last', waiting for the meaning to sink in, "I'll answer. The answer is: nothing. You see, and that's it. He gives nothing, nothing important, at least. You should know by now that I hate debts. And with you, kid, the debt would be too big to my liking. Not to mention I'm ten years older than you." She smiled and winked at him. "And that's the thing you should be thinking about. Now, get out of here, before I lose my patience and start shooting."

When Corso left, reluctantly, Mhyra sighed. Saying no to him felt a bit like kicking a hopeful, enthusiastic akk-dog puppy... But there were too many reasons against even flirting with the kid. The fact that he wasn't exactly her type among them.

She sighed again. First Balmorra, now that... She really needed some distraction. Some nice distraction. She smiled and sent a short message to Darmas, then settled more comfortably in her chair, waiting for his call.

It wasn't entirely true that he gave her nothing. He made her laugh, which was a good thing, but she made him laugh, too, so they were even. There were no debts; they were equals. With Corso, it would never be like that. She did not need to be worshipped; she wanted to be understood... And Darmas gave her that. He cared, too, in his own peculiar way, but at this point it was non-committal, and she liked it that way. Flirting and friendship, yes, but it was still too early for much more.

The comm beeped, and she activated it, smiling.

"I thought you were going to Hoth, sweetheart," Darmas said, a brief smile flashing across his lips.

"Yeah, I should be... But it's really not very inviting. And cold."

He smiled again, slowly, lazily, seductively. "If I only could, I'd go with you and keep you warm."

She smirked. "Let me guess; you have a deadly allergy for low temperatures?"

"Actually, no." He laughed. "I have some work to do for our, ah, beloved Republic. And some profits to make with those prototypes from Balmorra. As sad as it makes me that I'll not be able to accompany you, I'm glad I'll be earning you some serious credits, at least."

"Ah, you know how to talk to a woman." It was her turn to smile lazily. "But I think I should give your morale some boost before I leave. Well, I know my morale could certainly use some."

Darmas laughed again; it was a low, slightly rumbling sound, one she was growing to like very much. "I'll chill us some good wine, then. Or would you prefer Chandrilan brandy?"

"Wine sounds good." She blew him a kiss. "See you later, then, old rascal."

He shook his head. "Really, sweetheart, you call me all kinds of nicest endearments," he reproached, but she could see he was smiling.

"Oh, come on, you like it when I'm teasing you."

"Ah, you have no idea." He blew her a kiss, too. "See you soon, then, sweetheart."

Mhyra grinned. "And that will only be the beginning..."

Before he disconnected, she saw him shaking his head and laughing again. Yes, that was good. Jokes, laughter and no debts. And now, with the prototypes from Balmorra, they could try talking business together and see where that would take them. Mixing business with private life was risky... but sometimes worth the risk. And Mhyra was very curious how it would be with Darmas.

So far, she's been faithful to him – she had flirted with other men, of course, but had not really even meant it. Maybe it was the right time to try something more serious and find herself... how had Chalinda called her relationship with Nico once? Business partners? Good name, Mhyra thought. Fitting.

She was not certain yet if that was really what she wanted, but... Well, she thought, grinning, no risk, no fun. And since he was great fun, some risk was acceptable.

. . .

When Darmas finally found his way down to the bar, he smiled when he spotted her. Not one of his usual quick, playful smiles, though, but a slower-blooming, lazy smile of a connoisseur admiring a priceless work of art.

Good, Mhyra thought, considering how much effort she put into getting that blasted dress adjusted to her taste. It was what she'd call a classic noblewoman's gown, covering her from neck to toes, but adjusted to show off her shoulders. It had all the right colours, too, some dim, reddish pink, with gold embellishments and embroidery. Mhyra even went as far as braiding the two longer sections of her hair and having Risha plat tiny golden chains into it, the jewellery making glimmering curtains on both sides of her face.

Darmas approached her, smiled again and then offered a slight, if still theatrical bow.

"Ah, you look every inch the queen of Port Nowhere, my dear."

"I thought it would be nice to a get a souvenir from Alderaan." Mhyra smiled, watching Darmas reach for her hand and lift it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles.

"And I have a nice souvenir from Port Nowhere waiting in my cabin," he said in a low voice, but there were merry, almost mischievous sparks in his eyes.

Phrases like what he had just said must have been old back when the Republic had been founded, and Mhyra could not understand how anyone could fall for something so cheesy. But now, between him and her, it was a game, and all the stupid pick-up phrases were allowed, because what they were after was a good laugh. A right sense of humour and healthy distance to everything in life, including oneself, was something she appreciated in a man.

She laughed, took his hand and tucked hers under his arm. "Lead on, then. I'm sure your cabin is well worth a visit."

"Any place is worth a visit in your company, sweetheart," he added smoothly, making her laugh again.

She gently nudged him in the ribs. "You're a terrible flirt, you know that?"

"Ah, pardon me, sweetheart, but I beg to differ. I think I'm quite adept at flirting."

. . .

He was, she had to give him that. He always knew what to say to make her laugh, to let her forget all the problems and focus just on that delightful game they were playing.

And he was a good kisser, too, she thought when they entered his cabin and she wound her arms around his neck. Slowly, they made their way to the bed. She pushed him lightly, and he pulled her down with him. She was laughing as she sat up over him. Darmas just smiled up at her, his fingers sliding slowly from her hips up to her waist.

She caught his hands and pinned them over his head. He could have easily got free, but he didn't even try. He smiled again and moved his hands a little, lightly twining his fingers with hers. Mhyra looked down at him, at his tousled hair, his smile and his eyes. Whoever he really was – which wasn't that important to her, because at this point he was still just an adventure – he was fond of her. He might have kept things from her, or given empty words instead of answers, but the look in his eyes didn't lie.

Which was good, Mhyra thought, because she was kind of fond of him, too. He didn't try to bind her to him in any way, he just enjoyed the moment and let her go and roam the galaxy, and never asked if she would come back. In other words, he simply understood her, and that was what she wanted in a man.

Wealth was always nice, but having her own small fortune by now, she didn't need anyone else's. A ship – or a fleet, or a space station – was always an asset, too, but again, not necessary. No, understanding was enough. Sadly, it was also surprisingly difficult to be found in agreeable men.

"I'm a patient man, but are we going to stay like that for the rest of the night, sweetheart?" Darmas asked, smiling his charming rouge's smile. "It seems a scandalous waste of time."

She laughed and let go of his left hand, and he immediately reached up to touch her face, then tangle his fingers in her hair and slowly guide her in for a kiss. Mhyra let him, leaning down. It never hurt when a man was a good kisser, either, and she had to admit he was one of the best she'd met.

. . .

Mhyra, already dressed, tried to get her hair into order. Darmas, kneeling behind her chair with his arms wrapped around her waist, certainly wasn't helping.

"Ah, get away, I have to go," she chided, batting him away when he tried to nuzzle her ear.

"Such a pity," he murmured, then kissed her shoulder.

"Hey, you were the one that found me this assignment. If not for that, I'd be happily going around my own business. And who knows, maybe I'd even still visit you sometimes."

"Cruel woman." He smiled, amused. "You would leave me alone, pining for you on endless cold, lonely nights?"

Mhyra laughed. He was always like that, a bit dramatic, his compliments and endearments overdone just enough to be amusing.

"Oh, please... Am I supposed to believe all those girls flocking around you are just for decoration?"

"There's been only one woman, for some time. Since, well, let me think, Coruscant? Yes, since Coruscant. You might know her, by the way. Pretty, smart and funny. Well, and how about you, sweetheart? A broken-hearted young man in every port?"

"It's somewhat shocking, but no. No broken hearts, either, since, let me think, Coruscant. Just one old rascal..."

"Old? Sweetheart, you wound me." He was pretending to be serious, but she could hear the echoes of laughter in his voice.

"Well, fine, not-too-young rascal. But certainly a very vain one. Better now?" She turned, pulling away a bit to look at him. "Well, you know what I think of life experience..."

Darmas laughed heartily at that. "Sweetheart, you're a treasure."

Mhyra sighed and rolled her eyes. "Does everything in your life has to be about money, really?" And then she lost it and laughed, too.

It was always like that between them: playful banter, joking and lots and lots of laughter. It was easy, comfortable.

He tapped her cheek gently. "You know, if I could, I'd buy you the whole galaxy."

"To keep me closed in it, like a bird in a gilded cage?" she asked playfully.

"So that you could fly freely as far as you wanted, until you were tired. And then you'd come back to me to rest."

She laughed some more. "Oh, please, I'm that close to making a respectable man out of you?"

"I'm afraid that will never be possible, sweetheart, not with my reputation. All I'm trying to do is to get you to stay for a while longer. See how cold the space looks? Uninviting, isn't it? Meanwhile, I can offer you a warm bed, Killik-silk sheets and, well, some life experience."

Mhyra laughed so hard she had to rest her head on his shoulder to keep balance. "Fine, fine, you win," she managed to say between fits of laughter. "I wouldn't get to my ship while laughing so hard, anyway..."

"Mhm. You know, I could keep getting you out of this dress again and again for the rest of my life."

"Was that a compliment to my breathtaking beauty, my taste in clothing or your patience?"

"Sweetheart, making me laugh while I'm carrying you isn't the best idea..."


	8. Chapter 8

_Recommended soundtrack: "Silmarills" by Lind Erebros (it's not made of notes, it's made of feels)._

* * *

VIII

Ever since Darmas had first heard who would be leading the soldiers that would accompany them, he knew the first meeting would not be pleasant. Well, in truth he expected none of their next meetings to be so, either.

What poor Corso had probably never paid attention to was that Mhyra did not like soldiers very much. Of course, they ranked higher than, for example, Imperial spies who had deceived her, but not high enough. Not Corso, anyway.

During his career in the Imperial Intelligence, Darmas had learned well how to read people. Not that reading Corso required much... The boy wanted stability, wanted someone whom he could worship. And Mhyra... Ah, what she wanted was a kind of stability, too, even if she did not recognise it as such – but it was a different kind of stability altogether. A ship, a galaxy to explore – and perhaps a safe port to return to, from time to time.

Corso would love her, of course. And worship her. And beg her to stay with him, to settle down. He would bind her wings, and then for the rest of his life he would wonder either why she was unhappy, or why she escaped and left him.

And... Darmas – the real him, whomever he was – was not vain. But he was self-confident. And he knew for certain that he understood Mhyra better than the boy ever could.

When the troops finally arrived – just before the takeoff, too, so they all met on the landing pad, and the soldiers had just enough time to take their gear from their ship onto the _Wheel of Fortune_ – it seemed that sergeant Riggs was very pleased at seeing Darmas as a Republic prisoner. Seeing him behind bars would be better, of course, but Corso was happy enough with knowing that during their little expedition Darmas would have no say in anything. Well, happy was somehow and understatement. The boy was gleeful.

Darmas did not let it bother him. The kid was no contest at all. But it was no reason to let him think that now, when Darmas was out of the game, Corso was going to win. Because he wasn't. No, they were both going to lose this round.

Still, Darmas was not going to reveal all the cards yet. Let the boy enjoy the moment while it lasted...

Probably for the first time since they had met, Corso smiled first. "Well, so the Jedi caught you, after all. Seems you're not as good as you thought, eh?" He was evidently having too much satisfaction from his observations, misguided as they were.

Verbal duelling with Irlan was one thing, but Darmas was not going to let some kid win a simple conversation, not like this. And he knew exactly what would hurt Corso the most.

He smiled lazily. "Pity, then, that you still lost with such a man, isn't it?" He was not going to mention Mhyra and tarnish her name like that, but a subtle allusion should be enough.

Corso gritted his teeth. "Don't you dare say her name..."

"Easy, lad." There was a warning in Darmas's voice. If it ever came to a fight between them, Corso had no chances, and it was high time for the kid to realise that. "Besides, I mentioned no names. And you shouldn't, either. But it's good to hear you know what I was talking about. Well, so long... sergeant." He put emphasis on the last word, making sure that Corso would cringe for the next few – or few dozen – times on hearing it, and, not waiting for the boy's reaction, he turned and got onto the ship.

Only to almost walk into Irlan a moment later.

"Well, that wasn't very nice," the Jedi remarked casually.

"I'm supposed to help you break codes, slice computers and keep the Empire off our backs." Darmas smiled wryly. "I charge extra for being nice."

"And how much that would be?"

Darmas looked the Jedi up and down meaningfully. "You can't afford it."

To his irritation, Irlan laughed. That was the problem with the blasted Jedi – all their discussions and teasing was just fun to him, and none of that could annoy him, while riling up Darmas pretty well sometimes. In some aspects, Irlan's padawan was much better than her Master. At least she did not talk half as much.

It helped his pride a little that both Jedi and the Republic troops had to spend a part of the trip cramped in the hidden cargo holds, under the floor panels. It was juvenile, but as Darmas walked along the corridor again, could not help feeling some sort of satisfaction at that. And because it had been a long time since he had felt anything more positive at all, he allowed himself to cherish that little triumph.

. . .

Their base was an old mining camp – not the best place possible, but the best that Sumalee's scouts could find, and probably the best place available. As much as Darmas strongly disliked the Jedi, their scouts had not earned their reputation for nothing.

As it turned out, the base was underground, which made it easier to hide from long-range scans. And with all the mining shafts, they had more than one way out. Unfortunately, that also meant that there was more than one way in. Darmas took care of that immediately, placing sensors at each entrance.

"Perimeter secure, for now," he announced later. "Well, at least as secure as I can get it with what we have."

Irlan laughed. "You always keep your reports so... detailed?"

"When it's necessary," Darmas replied curtly. "And I think it's necessary to patrol the caves, just in case."

The Jedi nodded. "Something we can agree on, at least. I've already talked with sergeant Riggs. And I think it wouldn't hurt if a Jedi joined them."

"At this rate of agreement, we're going to became best friends before this expedition is over," Darmas remarked dryly.

"Certainly not with me, Pollaran," Risha cut in. She had just returned after checking the adjoining cave, and had missed most of the conversation. "I found some food supplies. All vacuum-packed, so they should still be edible. Oh, and there's some alcohol."

Darmas knitted his eyebrows. "I don't like it."

"What, the alcohol?" Risha smirked. For all her scowling, when she was in the mood to tease him, at least it was amusing. "Come on, Pollaran, you expect us to believe that?" But she quickly became serious again. "I don't like it, either." She glanced at him with hostility. "That doesn't make us friends, though. And nothing of the sort ever will."

Irlan smiled briefly. "Since you've got that settled, can we get back to the matters at hand?" He waited until they both muttered their agreement. "I'll get Ilmaya to look into the matter... It's all strange. We've seen no signs of any struggles."

"So far," Darmas noted. "Perhaps they escaped before any struggle could take place. Or perhaps there's something about this place we don't know yet."

"Or perhaps someone is paranoid," Corso added, shrugging his rifle off his shoulder; he had just come back from a patrol.

Really, Darmas could almost pity the boy. No matter how much Corso tried to prove that he knew better, he could not undermine Darmas's confidence, and it irritated him to no end. That was, Darmas thought, the difference between a boy and a man. A man knew his strengths, and did not have to wonder whether there was any truth in a comment born out of jealousy.

"Better paranoid than dead," countered Darmas calmly.

"Definitely." Mhyra walked out of the main shaft, leading to the biggest cave, where she had landed the ship. She did not look at him for long, though. "Check the place again, just in case."

The Jedi nodded. "We will. I don't sense any imminent danger, though. But we'll check everything again." His face turned thoughtful. "I'll try to contact Sumalee and ask her for a full report from her scouts." He glanced at his padawan. "Ilmaya? Any thoughts?"

The girl, who had been silent so far, shook her head. "No, Master. There's something... odd, but I can't pinpoint it." Her eyes gleamed. "But I'll stay alert."

Irlan nodded. "We all will."

. . .

During another check of the area, one of the soldiers reported hearing a strange sound, but could not locate its source precisely. Since Irlan was on patrol, his padawan took it upon herself to solve the mystery.

And, as it turned out later, when everyone else was getting down to a very late dinner, she did solve it.

"Master?" the Twi'lek entered the cave, the soldier trailing behind her. Her robes were covered in snow, and she was holding a softly glowing box in her hands. Strangely, the box was emitting a quiet, peculiar noise, something between buzzing and ringing. "I've found it in..."

"Ah, a datacron." Darmas had seen his share of those on Dromund Kaas. That one sounded differently, though. "And that's probably the answer to our questions. If the miners entered a newly-excavated cave and heard strange noises..." He shrugged, scowling inwardly. The slightly screechy noises were making his hair stand on end.

Irlan nodded thoughtfully. "Probably." He took the datacron and examined it. "Broken. Hence the strange noise..." He pressed something on the side of the device, and the glow disappeared. The noises stopped, too. And, probably, so did their troubles.

But Darmas did not let his guard down. It was just a hunch, but intuition was telling him that something was off. Ilum was simply too small a world to have so many things going on at once... A war, a lost holocron, Great War artifacts, now a broken datacron... And where there was a lot going on, two things were certain. The first was the Jedi – well, they had that already. And the second was the Empire.

Darmas guessed it was just a matter of time before someone would notice their little expedition. Hopefully, they would manage to leave Ilum before that. Hopefully. He knew from experience that hope was not a factor worthy of taking into consideration when it came to calculating probability.

. . .

All in all, they had had quite an eventful day. They were all cold, and thus more prone to irritation, but that evening they were too tired for quarrels. They were safely hidden from snow and frosty wind, they had fire, warm food and some alcohol – and all that combined was enough to make them more mellow. So, instead of teasing one another, they started telling stories. That is, Dirkh and Risha were doing most of the talking. Corso also said something from time to time, seemingly trying to impress Ilmaya, but glancing over at Mhyra when he thought that no one was looking. Unfortunately for the boy, Mhyra just ignored him.

"And guess what?" Dirkh was recounting how he and Mhyra had first met, and had just gotten to the part when they were trying to escape the Imperial jail. "She flirted with the officer who was assigned to guarding us! What was his name? Quen? Qui—... No, I don't remember... Anyway, after a few talks she had him all but wrapped around her finger. And I must admit that was quite amusing to watch. She convinced him to allow her to make just one holo-call... And when he let her out of the cell, she used his own stims to sedate him. Then she opened my cell and we escaped. Fun times..." The Jedi laughed quietly. "Now this feels almost like reliving the past. Except that we don't have an Imperial officer head over heels in love with Mhyra, that is."

Darmas kept his face impassive, and said nothing. Fortunately, no one else commented either. Strange, but he had a feeling that the Jedi had said that on purpose. And he was certain that if he looked at Irlan, the Jedi would wink at him.

"I sometimes wondered what became of him," Mhyra mused, poking the fire with a stick.

"Maybe I can answer that." Darmas had no idea what compelled him to speak. Oh, well, it could not get much worse, could it? "If I identified the man correctly, and I think I have... He became the most regulations-abiding officer I knew. It seems you scarred him for life, sweetheart."

Everyone laughed at his comment, even Risha, who usually scowled at everything he said, even when it made sense. Mhyra laughed with the others, too. But then she stopped laughing and looked at him, and something gleamed in her eyes... Reproach. He knew why. For a moment, because his remark had sounded so casual, it had seemed like the old times... And it was obvious that she did not want to remember. And he had no choice but to respect that.

. . .

Everything was going fine. Exceptionally smoothly, in fact. It only made most of them wary. There was such a thing as luck, but Darmas knew from experience that probability and careful planning was more reliable in the long run. So he tried to predict all possible scenarios, kept listening on Imperial comm frequencies for some useful intel, watched everything carefully and made preparations for all kinds of events. Although, judging by the intel, since the fighting was taking place in a different part of the planet, the worst thing that could happen was a bit of a snowfall.

They even joked about it at first, while trying to dig to the entrance to ruins of the Jedi temple, and later, when they had to get the snow out of the outer corridors. They laughed while digging out some old Jedi rubbish. But when they got through to the lower levels and found the first holojournal in the archives, they stopped joking.

Ilum was not a well-known planet, at best. Cold, remote, lots of ice and snow, that was basic knowledge. From time to time, there were warnings about heavy snowfalls, but that was it. Usually no one mentioned the blizzards. The journal did, only briefly. They came quickly, with no warning, and nothing was left alive after their passing.

But then, they were not very common, either. The journal was dating back to the Great War, and that had been over ten years earlier. A snowstorm happening once in ten years did not seem very scary. So, slowly, everyone eased up a little. And Darmas, having a really bad feeling about the blasted mission, added some more items to the survival pack he kept in his speeder's carrier. Because finding no mention of more storms did not mean they were not more frequent than it seemed.

. . .

When it eventually happened, it felt all too predictable, really. Like an old, too-often-used scenario of a holonovel.

They were all going around their business, when Risha got back from the listening outpost, much more quickly than expected. "There's a snowstorm coming!" she announced, her steps echoing a staccato on the metal panels. "Dirkh, call the team back."

"Right away." The Jedi left at once, without argument. Storms on Ilum were rare, unpredictable and... Well, deadly was a good word to describe most of them. And some were probably worse than most.

Risha glanced around, her gaze sweeping across the room as she kept counting everyone. "Ah, Corso, you're back already? Good... Wait a minute. What's that look supposed to mean?" Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me..."

"Mhyra's still in the temple." As understanding started dawning on Corso, fear gleamed in his eyes. "She told us to take the cargo, get to the base and then come back to pick her up. She insisted," Corso added in an attempt at explaining.

"Fool!" Darmas said, in unison with Risha. Then they looked at each other warily.

"Imbecile!" Risha turned back to Corso, her royal blood got the better of her. "What were you thinking?! The rules are easy: we leave no one alone. No one! Which part of 'no one' can't you understand?"

Darmas said nothing else. Nobody paid him any notice as he swiftly moved to the crate where he kept his thermal suit and started putting it on quickly, all the while silently blessing what others had often called his paranoia – whatever he planned, he always prepared for the worst, too. So when the worst came, like now, he could do something about it immediately, wasting no time on discussions.

"Dirkh? Dirkh!" Meanwhile, Risha had turned towards the main exit tunnel. "Blast it, he's gone to the comm tower..." She whirled back on Corso, so furious that he took a step back. "The comm won't reach her, there's too much static already... When was she supposed to get out of the ruins?" That was a valid point. Most of the temple ruins were underground now, or buried under ice and snow, so Mhyra would not even notice the approaching storm until it was too late.

"At fifteen hundred, but... If I go now, perhaps we'll get back here before..."

"No, you won't," Darmas interrupted sharply. Already dressed and ready to go out, he grabbed a rucksack. The rest of the survival kit was already packed into the speeder's carrier – thermal blankets, a first-aid kit, basic tools, some food rations and two bottles of strong Corellian brandy. "But that's not the point." Not bothering with Corso, he approached Risha. "Wait until the storm is over, then dig us out." That she did not utter even a word of protest at him ordering her around was telling more clearly than anything else how dire the situation was. "The padawan should sense if we'll still be alive."

Risha held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "If you do this, I'll withdraw the bounty I put on your head," she said, no trace of mockery or teasing in voice; nothing but seriousness.

In other circumstances, Darmas would have laughed at her peculiar way of showing gratitude. As it was, he just nodded to her and left in a hurry. If he was lucky, he would get to Mhyra on time, and then try to somehow make sure they would not freeze to death.

. . .

He reached the ruins in the last moment. The storm was slowly unfurling, big snowflakes tossed across the air by the wind, which was getting stronger by the second. Driving the speeder was still possible, but Darmas could feel it was slowly getting more and more difficult to turn precisely.

Mhyra was at the temple's entrance, wrapped up in her thermosuit, white fur on the brim of the hood framing her face. She was leaning against a pillar and looking at the horizon, aware that it was too late to get to back the base. She seemed calm, but it was the kind of calm that seized people too resigned to panic.

Darmas waved at her to get inside – almost falling off the speeder in the process, as an exceptionally strong gust of wind hit him, carrying a torrent of snowflakes. Fortunately, she got inside, waiting for him in the corridor, the white oval of the fur visible in the shadows. He briefly wondered whether she mistook him for her Jedi friend, but then decided there was no time for such pointless musings. They had to get deeper inside the temple, as quickly as possible.

Braking the speeder sharply, he almost jumped off. But he forced himself to calm down and take the necessary time. If they made it through the night, their lives could depend on that speeder. Carefully, he pulled the vehicle into the corridor. It was too narrow, so he took off one of the leather carrier bags and threw it to Mhyra. Then he waved at her to get deeper inside.

After a few minutes and a considerable amount of effort, he managed to get the speeder into the first chamber. The door did not close completely, but still, it was better than nothing. Taking off the goggles and throwing them to the ground, he took the other carrier bag and hurried deeper inside, chased by the wind and the first snowflakes. In the next chamber, he tried to close the second door behind him, recalling a paragraph from the journal – it had actually been another snowstorm that had damaged the first door. The second door panel was damaged, too – by one of the battles of the Great War, probably – and all he managed was to half-shut it.

"Down to the archives," he called to Mhyra. It was an order, but there was no time for courtesies.

Momentarily, she stopped, recognising him finally as his face got caught in the dim lamplight. "You." Usually, he would have no problems telling whether she was surprised or disappointed, but now his whole focus was on something else. Their survival.

"Go," he urged. "Please," he added, in a flash of inspiration. Or perhaps desperation.

And, thankfully, she listened.

. . .

"We should be safe here," Darmas announced, inspecting the closed door one more time.

"Wonderful." Mhyra grimaced, apparently not happy with the turn of events. Not that he did not understand her; he did, all too well.

They were now safe from the blizzard – relatively, at least – but there was another problem. Cold... Ah, blast it, it was freezing.

They had the brandy and the thermoblankets that he had brought, and an old, probably broken heater unit that was in the chamber, but he suspected that before the night was over, they would have to huddle together for some warmth. And with all the brandy... It wasn't wise. It should not happen, for many reasons. Still, now that the immediate threat was over, Darmas felt a thrill at the thought of what might happen.

"I'll try to get the heater working," he offered. If they could turn it on... But the main generator was damaged. Though, with the force the wind had now, perhaps it could accumulate enough energy for the smaller chamber generator to... After all, one spark of electricity was all he needed.

He got the tools out and set to work. Mhyra just wrapped herself in a thermoblanket and opened the first bottle. She curled up on a broken sofa and watched him work, sipping the brandy.

"It won't work, you know. The main generator is damaged. So unless you can synthesize energy out of nothing..."

"Please, my dear. Sarcasm doesn't suit you." Darmas did not want to quarrel with her, not now. Especially not while he was meddling with the generator. Electrocuting was not the kind of death he would prefer.

"And this patronising tone doesn't suit you," she snapped back.

"I beg to differ."

She put her hand on one of her blasters and smiled lazily. "I could make you beg, you know..."

Darmas had a reply for that, but he bit his tongue. She was in a foul mood, annoyed by the weather and still angry at him for Corellia and all the other things, and he had no doubt that she could actually shoot him. So he just focused on the task at hand. He could not make the generator work... but if he managed to overload the circuits, it would start melting, and would provide enough heat for them to make it till morning. He connected the last two cables... Something sizzled, and there was a faint smell of burning as the generator started melting inside. Done.

Darmas checked everything one last time, then allowed himself a brief smile. Apparently, he had not forgotten as much as he feared. Then he gathered the tools back into the box, wrapped himself in another blanket, took the remaining bottle and settled on another sofa, near enough to keep an eye on Mhyra, but at a safe distance.

They sat in silence, sipping the brandy and listening to the wind, howling in the ventilation shafts. At some point, he caught another quiet noise.

"Your teeth are chattering, sweetheart," he remarked cautiously, glancing at Mhyra.

"Bugger off." It was followed by another quiet chatter. For a Mirialan, she was less immune to cold that he would have expected.

Darmas sighed. "Sweetheart, be reasonable. Please."

She scoffed, but finally nodded. He walked over to her, slipped under her blanket, and put his over them both. She tensed when he put his arm around her, but didn't pull away. Well, sharing body heat would be best, but he was not that foolish; it would end in a disaster. No, the blankets and the alcohol had to be enough.

They sat in silence, drinking more brandy. One gulp it still wasn't enough to keep them very warm, and another it was suddenly too much for everything else. He felt mellow, and slightly giddy. It could not end well... Mhyra's head lolled onto his shoulder.

"Sweetheart, you can't fall asleep." He shook her lightly and she opened her eyes, glaring at him. "Wake up, sleepyhead. You have to stay awake and try to stay warm."

Despite the glint in her eyes, she sounded more sober than he felt. "There are better ways of staying warm than lecturing me."

Darmas groaned inwardly. "Sweetheart, that's not... not wise," he finished, without conviction. She really had quick hands. Possibly the quickest in the galaxy, now that he thought of it. He had troubles thinking. "Sweetheart, that's..."

She kissed him, slipping onto his lap. "Shut up and keep me warm, idiot."

And he, the fool he was, could not say no.

. . .

They were much warmer. And, he thought, glancing at Mhyra's face, much more bitter. Inexplicably, he felt... sad, somehow. It was like watching a holo of something good – he could glimpse it, but it was out of his grasp. Once more, his thoughts turned to Port Nowhere. Ah, good times. Good times...

Mhyra curled up, shifting closer for warmth. Her breath was tickling his neck... It burned him.

"Sweetheart, don't sleep."

"What am I supposed to do, die of boredom instead of freezing to death?"

"We could talk. All right, that might not be the best idea." But he had to find a way to keep her from sleeping. "We could tell stories or play a game..."

"You're good at it, aren't you? Games. And cheating."

Darmas groaned. "Sweetheart, please..."

"Told you I could make you beg."

He kissed her. She didn't push him away. Worse; she kissed him back.

"Fine, we won't talk," he agreed, giving up without a fight. There were many reasons why that was all a bad, terribly bad idea, but he could not remember them clearly, distracted by her warm skin. Warm, and golden like the finest brandy... His thinking processes were not functioning as smoothly as they should, but Darmas did not even mind. "No talking," he said, a little breathlessly.

Mhyra looked down at him, smirking. "Good."

She was much more sober now, and so was he. And it was... strange, certainly. Neither spoke as much as a single word; the only sounds were their breaths, echoing in the chamber. He still felt drunk, but not because of the alcohol; it was the heat of her skin, her scorching kisses... It all felt like a fever; heat, sweat and shivers, with everything hazy, and he felt as if he was on fire. Fever; it had to be.

It also felt bitter, somehow. Well, no surprise, really – Darmas knew it was the last time. Mhyra knew that, too. At some point, he glimpsed the look on her face: her smile was slightly cold, almost triumphant – though there was no joy in it – but her eyes were ablaze, like twin suns. She wanted him to remember, and to remember it well, she wanted this night etched in his memory forever. Wanted to remind him what he had lost, and wanted him to regret it. And she was doing a good job.

He watched her face, trying to commit the sight to memory... And then Mhyra opened her eyes again and their stares met. They were both completely sober by now, and... For a moment, Darmas kept looking into her eyes, transfixed by what he saw there – by how much regret he saw there. Then he bowed his head to kiss her neck, hiding his face from view. Mhyra did not want to read what he knew was in his eyes, he saw that clearly now. She did not want to know, she did not want anything so... profound. So he hid it from her.

When her fingers tightened in his hair and she tugged, almost painfully, he wondered – for a briefest moment of clarity – whether she had glimpsed his feelings. And then he soundlessly whispered her name against her throat, and when she shivered, he kissed her, deeply, passionately. Desperately. And not once looking into her eyes again.


End file.
